Repossession
by DreamsofSpike
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale's clandestine love affair has spanned the past fourteen years, with Heaven and Hell none the wiser. Or so they thought. Angel and demon alike quickly learn that Heaven can be far crueler than Hell. Many thanks to my friend and beta reader, the lovely and talented VivatRex!
1. Chapter 1

Parked on the side of a crowded SoHo street on a dark night in 1967, the demon Crowley made the agonizing decision to disappear - utterly and permanently - from the life of the angel Aziraphale.

_"You go too fast for me, Crowley…"_

The words had stung, yeah - but it wasn't the words but the _eyes _that made Crowley drive away that night with every intention of never interacting with Aziraphale again.

Crowley knew a little bit about a lot of things, but there were two things in which he considered himself to be expert. The first was of course, temptation - his responsibility and, officially on the record, reason for existence.

The second was Aziraphale.

And while Aziraphale's words had warned him away, the angel's eyes had told Crowley something completely different. There was a depth of longing there, a sorrowful ache that told Crowley if he'd pushed just a little more - perhaps offered dinner at that new little restaurant that had made him think of Aziraphale the moment he saw their new sign in the window - perhaps just reached out and caught the angel's sleeve as he was about to get out of the Bentley and _asked him not to go _…

Aziraphale would have stayed.

He wanted to, Crowley knew it. Temptation expert and all - it was impossible to miss the temptation he himself had created in the angel's eyes, the slowly building desperation of desire, mingled with the fear and shame of knowing that he _should not _be desiring.

It struck Crowley's heart through with terror.

He thought of Aziraphale, all soft colors and softer eyes and a loving warmth that drew Crowley in, enticed by the faintest taste of the Heaven he'd lost - he thought of the first time he'd seen Aziraphale's pure white wings, and moments after that, the purity of love and generosity in the angel's heart. In all of Heaven and Hell and Earth, Aziraphale was the one truly good person Crowley knew to be in existence.

And then he thought of flames, and agony, and the acrid scent of burning flesh and feathers when he'd plummeted from the heavens, the painful impact followed by unspeakable agony as molten sulphur dragged him under… and the way it felt when even that unspeakable agony was utterly obliterated by the breathtaking devastation of realizing all that he'd lost.

He knew in that moment, the certainty like a bullet to the heart - he had to stay away from Aziraphale.

_He'd give himself to me if I asked. _Crowley knew it to be true. _And in so doing he'd damn his own soul… he'd Fall. _

No matter what it meant he had to do - _or stop doing _\- Crowley could not let that happen.

So for the next couple of decades, Crowley threw himself into whatever distractions he could find. Every now and then, something fun would show up in the cinema. Technology became increasingly advanced, and full of new and intriguing possibilities for temptation. Music became exceedingly awesome - and then went to utter shit.

There was always alcohol - exceedingly ridiculous quantities of alcohol.

And there was work.

Hell would historically look back on these few years in Crowley's existence as the time when he "actually tried". He performed more temptations in a single week than he'd done in a month before, and he _did _try, really, to make them a bit more destructive than had been his tendency for the last few millennia. Some humans actually even _got hurt _as a result of his antics - and in two cases, he actually managed to restrain himself from going back and secretly doing what he could to un-hurt them.

Of course, in one of those cases, the human was a child abuser - in the other, a corrupt politician.

He did his job, if not to perfection, better than he'd done it for most of his career - and he tried to ignore the soft voice in the back of his head that sounded too much like Aziraphale even after all this time, and never said anything more than, "Oh, _Crowley _," in a tone that wasn't quite angry with him, but rather just … _hurt _and _disappointed _.

Hell, on the other hand, became increasingly angry with how frequently _someone _seemed to be thwarting his wiles at every turn. It was harder than ever to forget about Aziraphale, when every other conversation or so Crowley was blaming him for the failure of his latest job.

_"He's a clever one, that angel, always seems to be a step ahead of me…"_

_"I don't know how he knew what I was planning, I'll try to keep it secret next time…" _

The thought that perhaps word might get back to the proper authorities and at least Aziraphale might get some Heavenly credit or a promotion out of all of it was a slight comfort.

And then one cold night in the winter of 1986, with Hell breathing down his neck and a temptation that had gone a little better than he'd hoped for - all his good intentions went straight to Heaven, and the demon Crowley found himself knocking on Aziraphale's door.

Bumping into it repeatedly and with no particular rhythm might have been a more accurate way of putting it. Aziraphale wasn't quite sure that anyone was properly _knocking _at his door at all, but thought it best that he check anyway.

And there was Crowley, leaning against the door and stumbling inside when Aziraphale opened it.

"Crowley! What are you - what's wrong?" He frowned, his heart sinking at the strong scent of alcohol pouring off the demon, which would not have been all that troubling if not in combination with the tracks of dried tears that streaked his face. "What's happened?"

He nudged Crowley away from the door, turning to lock it behind them, before leading him to the sofa and helping him to sit down.

"'S nothing," Crowley insisted, shaking his head too slowly and too emphatically as Aziraphale sat down beside him. "Nothing, 'm just a little drunk…"

" _Crowley _." Aziraphale reached out one hand to steady Crowley's shoulder, the other reaching up to carefully take his glasses from his face and set them aside, against his incoherent protests. "Please, my dear, just talk to me… look at me, Crowley..."

When Crowley reluctantly complied, the anguish and guilt was clear all over his face - and so strong that Aziraphale could feel it, rolling off of him in waves. All angels and demons were naturally empathic to a certain extent, but Aziraphale more so than most angels. He was usually far more attuned to positive emotions than he was to negative ones - which only spoke to the intensity of the devastation that Crowley was currently experiencing, that Aziraphale could feel it so strongly.

But then, Aziraphale supposed it was not all that surprising. He'd always been far more attuned to _Crowley _than he was to anyone else, as well.

"Oh, Crowley," he said softly, watching him with worried eyes, biting his lip a little to keep from spilling out the gentle accusation that echoed only in his mind.

_What have you done? _

Crowley's reaction was such that Aziraphale immediately wondered with dismay if he'd accidentally spoken aloud. The demon's face crumpled. His usual shield taken from him, he hid his eyes behind his hand as his tears began to flow again.

"'M sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry…"

Aziraphale knew quite a lot about a lot of things, but there were two things in which he considered himself to be expert. The first was human emotion, as it was something that he was frequently surrounded by, and often held the responsibility to influence it in various ways for the better.

The second was Crowley.

And while he knew that demonic emotion wasn't _quite _the same as human emotion, generally speaking - in all their long history of knowing each other, Aziraphale had found Crowley to be the exception that proved the rule. He'd always been a bit … _soft _, for a demon, his emotions close enough to the surface to be easily read despite the mask he wore for the world.

And that was the troubling thing at the moment, wasn't it? How the mask seemed to have fallen away entirely.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Aziraphale was increasingly certain that whatever it was Crowley was feeling such guilt for, it was far worse than the usual temptations and minor annoyances for which he was often responsible.

His sinking feeling was completely correct.

In disjointed, slurred, barely coherent sentences, Crowley told Aziraphale that he'd been sent to tempt a young father of two - not even tempt, really, his superiors had shrugged it off. More like just sowing a bit of discord in the young man's family. All Crowley had to do was just sidle up to the man at the party, hand him another drink and whisper in his ear, just a bit of suspicion, while the young man watched his wife laughing with a male friend across the room.

There was no way that Crowley could have known that the man already had a tendency toward violent anger, especially when he'd been drinking - no way he could _possibly _have known that that night, when the couple arrived home, the drunk, angry young man would take the pistol from the safe under his bed and slaughter his entire family.

"They're just _kids _…" Crowley was distraught, despondent. "I didn't know he'd… they didn't do anything wrong… _she _didn't do anything wrong, it was _lies _, it was _me, I did this _…"

" _Crowley _." Aziraphale made his tone sharp enough to cut through Crowley's rapid downward spiral, reaching out to grip his shoulders and shake him just slightly, just enough to regain his attention. "Where are they? Where do they live?"

Crowley met his eyes again, confusion giving way to understanding, and then to hope, as he hurriedly blurted out the address - local, and not far.

"Wait here," Aziraphale instructed, holding Crowley's gaze with a somewhat severe, expectant look until Crowley nodded. Satisfied that he would find the demon where he'd left him when he returned, Aziraphale vanished from the room, reappearing an instant later across town, in the home Crowley had indicated.

The cacophony of anguish and dread that permeated the place was overwhelming, even before Aziraphale saw the bodies of the slain family - four bodies, not the three Crowley had indicated, because apparently once the father had realized what he'd done to his family, he'd turned his weapon on himself and taken his own life.

Aziraphale wasted no time, going first to the youngest child, a girl of about three. and touching her head, closing his eyes as the healing warmth of his grace flowed into her, bringing her back to life. A second touch placed the child in her own bed down the hall, sleeping peacefully with no memory of what had transpired that evening. Aziraphale repeated the procedure with the older child, and then the mother.

He stopped, standing over the body of the father, staring down at him, his natural tendency toward compassion for humanity warring with the cold disgust he felt. The pain in this house was deep, and old, and went far further than the events of a single night. Aziraphale knew that this was a man who had terrorized and abused his family, long before he ever lost control enough to take their lives.

Aziraphale touched the man, but did not restore his life - only moved his body to an alley just outside a bar he'd been known to frequent, so that his family would not awaken to find him there. He wasn't killing the man, he reasoned. The man had already done that himself. He was simply being… _selective _with his use of miracles.

He returned to find Crowley dozing sitting up on the sofa, the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed working in tandem with his emotional exhaustion. Aziraphale sat down close beside Crowley and reached out to take his hand, offering him a reassuring smile when the demon startled to wakefulness.

"Angel…" Crowley's voice was hoarse, anxious. "Did you… they're…"

"Alive," Aziraphale assured him with a nod. "As if it never happened."

Crowley's shoulders fell with relief, and he let out a shaky sigh. "Thwarted by you again," he remarked with a weak, brittle smile. "There'll be consequences, of course, for my failure… but at least I'll be able to live with myself for the next few centuries."

Aziraphale frowned, slightly confused at the "again", as he hadn't had any contact whatsoever with Crowley for nearly twenty years. He let it pass, though, and instead replied mildly, "I wouldn't call it a failure, exactly."

The mother and children lived - but Hell would still see _some _results from Crowley's interactions with his target. Could Crowley be blamed if there was only one casualty from his temptation, as opposed to four?

Crowley looked confused, shaking his head a little as he studied Aziraphale's face, and Aziraphale was struck by how open he looked, how vulnerable, without his sunglasses, his face tear-streaked, eyes wide and worried.

"I've handled it, Crowley," he insisted firmly. "You needn't worry. The family is safe - and the father will _never _harm them again."

Understanding dawned in Crowley's eyes, and he nodded slowly, lowering his head, sighing with relief. "Thank you," he breathed out. "Thanks, angel…"

Without thinking about what he was doing - a little alarmed when he realized he'd done it - Aziraphale reached out a hand to gently cup Crowley's cheek, his heart stuttering a bit when Crowley's eyes drifted shut and he leaned into the touch - momentarily stopping altogether when Crowley opened his eyes again and looked up at Aziraphale, unspeakable depths of emotion in his gaze.

"I've missed you," Aziraphale found himself confessing, unaware he was going to speak the words until he'd spoken them.

Fresh tears welled in Crowley's eyes, and Aziraphale could _feel _his yearning, a desperate ache to express something for which he hadn't the words - even before Crowley unexpectedly moved forward, closing the distance between them, one trembling hand rising to still Aziraphale's face as he pressed his mouth to Aziraphale's in a kiss that was somehow hungry and hesitant at the same time.

Stunned, Aziraphale did not respond, though his heart was racing and something long buried was stirring deep within him, a hunger to match Crowley's, though he'd tried to suppress it for centuries.

Crowley drew back after a moment, lowering his head, shaking it sadly, his words a barely audible, sibilant whisper. "Sorry… sorry, angel, I don't know what…"

Aziraphale silenced him with a kiss of his own, one hand threaded through the hair at the back of Crowley's neck, drawing him in and kissing him deeply. After a startled moment, Crowley responded, his hands sliding around Aziraphale's waist and drinking in the contact as if he'd been dying of thirst.

_He has _, Aziraphale realized with a pang of regret. _For how long? Decades? Centuries? _

But Crowley was drunk, and overwrought, and exhausted, so Aziraphale broke the kiss after a few moments, hushing Crowley's stammered uncertainties with gentle fingertips against his soft, trembling lips.

"We'll talk tomorrow," he promised, pulling Crowley's head down against his shoulder. "Rest now, dear. _Tomorrow _."

When morning came, Crowley tried to disappear from Aziraphale's life once more - but Aziraphale was having none of it. He caught him at the door, slipping his sunglasses onto his face and preparing to walk out - but Aziraphale stopped both with a single hand tangling in Crowley's sleeve and bringing him up short, turning him around. Pulling Crowley back into his arms, Aziraphale promised him that it was not a mistake, not a moment of weakness that he'd regret. He _wanted _Crowley, had wanted him as long as he could remember - and he wasn't going to let him slip away so easily this time.

"You'll fall," Crowley whispered, eyes closed, forehead tilted down against Aziraphale's, his words choked with fear and shame. "Being with me… like that… you'll _fall _, angel…"

"Perhaps I would," Aziraphale conceded softly, his arms around Crowley holding him fast, refusing his retreat. "If what I felt for you was simply… fleshly desire. And I do," he admitted with a self-conscious little chuckle. "I do feel that for you, Crowley, but… it's more." He placed a gentle hand at Crowley's chin, tilting his head up until the demon reluctantly met his eyes. "Surely you know that it's more?"

Crowley swallowed slowly, hesitation in his eyes before he confessed, quiet, aching, "It is for me."

Aziraphale had once wondered if it was possible for demons to love. At every turn, Crowley had challenged his prejudices, and made him question all he'd thought he'd known about the fallen ones. Crowley _loved _, with a depth of intensity to rival the love of any human. Surrounded by his colleagues who expected him to do his worst, Crowley tried at every turn to do as little damage as possible. His tender, passionate heart laid out on display for Aziraphale the previous evening, there had been no way for Aziraphale to deny it any further.

Crowley had a conscience. Crowley had a heart, so full of love and tenderness - and for at least the past few decades, Aziraphale had been repeatedly breaking it open and leaving it to bleed.

No more.

Aziraphale had not been ready in 1967. In the winter of 1986… he was.

"I love you," he said, looking Crowley directly in the eye, meeting Crowley's doubtful gaze by repeating insistently, " _I love you _."

He could feel Crowley's body shaking against him, watched as the dam broke in his eyes and Crowley kissed him again, intense and desperate, not pulling away until they both were breathless.

"Aziraphale," Crowley gasped out against his lips. "Love you, love you, angel, _love you _…"

It was the beginning of a new chapter for the two of them. They spent more time together than they ever had allowed themselves to before, as they came to know each other in ways neither of them had ever imagined would be possible. They tried to be careful, aware that neither of their respective sides would be happy to learn of their relationship - but it was hard to hold back after waiting for so many years. They shared each other's homes, shared intimate moments, shared memorable dates in locations both familiar and cherished, and new and exciting.

Aziraphale was happier than he'd ever been in his existence, and certain that it was going to last, quite literally, forever.

Until a warm summer day in the year 2000… when Crowley vanished from his life once more.


	2. Chapter 2

On a particularly fateful morning in the summer of the year 2000, Crowley woke up in Aziraphale's bed, as he had done on more mornings than not over the course of the past 14 years. They knew better than to spend _every_ night together. They had to keep up appearances, after all, couldn't have Heaven or Hell catching onto the true nature of their relationship - or the fact that they there was a relationship to speak of, at all.

Some nights they spent at Crowley's apartment, but Aziraphale's bed was softer than Crowley's, and, on summer mornings like this with the sun streaming through the window across Crowley's bare skin, warmer, too. He stretched a little, relishing the feeling of the warm rays across his chest - but it wasn't the heat of the sun that had awakened him, but the far more intense heat of Aziraphale's mouth against his throat, Aziraphale's hand sliding up his side as his angel settled onto the bed beside him.

"Good morning."

Crowley didn't even try to suppress the lazy smile that rose to his lips as Aziraphale whispered the words against his neck, the soft puff of breath tickling his skin and making him shift a little - but only to allow Aziraphale to settle in closer.

"Morning, angel," Crowley replied, voice hoarse with sleep, pressing a kiss to the disheveled curls at the top fo Aziraphale's head. "Now come back to bed…"

Aziraphale laughed softly, rising up on one arm to meet Crowley's sleepy eyes, a regretful smile on his face. "I wish I could, my dear, but we really must be getting up and about. Both of us."

Crowley frowned, raising a single brow. "That's your way of convincing me to _leave_ this bed?" He scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes and settling in more comfortably against the downy pillows under his head, reaching out with both arms to pull Aziraphale's annoyingly fully clothed body down on top of him. "'S what we call counter-productive…"

"Crowley," Aziraphale objected, the slight sharpness of his tone making Crowley sigh and release him, already aware that he was going to lose. "I've got to open up the shop…"

"Right, you do that, then," Crowley conceded, turning onto his side and snuggling deeper under the covers. "I'll just sleep a bit longer…"

Aziraphale's silence was weighted with his anxiety, and Crowley turned back toward him, opening his eyes and studying the angel's face. "What? What is it?" he asked, sitting up.

"Well, it's just that… Gabriel told me he'd be stopping by this morning. We haven't spoken in some time, and he said he wanted to pick up my report in person this time…"

"Right." Crowley sat up the rest of the way, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and dejectedly tossing the blanket back. "And can't have your mistress here when your wife gets home, can you?"

He was joking. Mostly.

Aziraphale scooted across the bed to sit beside him, mirroring his pose, and Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale placed a gentle arm around him. "Crowley, dear, you know that's not it at all. It's just that they can't find you here, you _know_ that. You know what could happen."

"Satan forbid, you might receive a strongly worded note."

"Yes, and you might receive a death sentence." Aziraphale's tone was sharp, his voice trembling a little, rising in pitch with his worries as he went along. "If they found you here, they would try to kill you! Or at the very least, report your presence here back to your own authorities, so that _they_ could then try to kill you! And Heaven knows that I would fight and I would fall before I'd let that happen, but if there's several of them, if I'm not fast enough or skilled enough, Crowley, I just _can't_…"

"All right, angel, I know," Crowley relented with a sigh, reaching a hand down to catch Aziraphale's hand where it rested at his waist. "I get it, I do. I'll go. I'm just - tired of hiding, 's all."

He moved as if to stand, but Aziraphale's arm held him fast. Crowley looked up at him, and the arresting intensity of Aziraphale's gaze - the mingled love and worry it held - nearly took his breath. Aziraphale leaned in, his hand rising from Crowley's waist to instead cup the back of his head and draw him into a fierce kiss to which Crowley could only surrender. When he finally drew back for air, Crowley let out a soft, breathless laugh, shivers of want still coursing through his body.

"Like I said, angel… if you want me to go, that's not exactly…"

"I don't." Aziraphale's quiet, certain tone stopped Crowley's words. "I'd have you with me always, Crowley. I do hope you know that."

"I do."

"I do hope that's… enough. For now."

Crowley felt Aziraphale's uncertainty, the vulnerability behind the words, and he leaned in to kiss him again - lighter this time, reassuring. "S'pose it'll have to be," he replied with a warm smile. "You go on and open up the shop. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can."

Aziraphale's expression softened with relief, and he ran a hand tenderly through Crowley's hair. Crowley closed his eyes at the sensation, leaning into the touch, as Aziraphale reluctantly rose to his feet.

"See you at lunch?" he reminded Crowley.

Crowley nodded as he stood up and reached for his trousers. "Yeah."

They had plans to meet for lunch at a new little restaurant that had just opened up, just outside of London. It wasn't very well known or busy yet, though it had gotten several ravingly positive reviews, and it was unlikely that either of their respective camps would think to come looking for them there.

Crowley got dressed quickly and slipped down the stairs and out the back door, taking a couple of back alleys before making his way back out to the main road where he'd parked the Bentley - two blocks away from the bookstore. As he unlocked the car and got in, he felt a familiar crackling of celestial energy, a soft, warm buzzing in his head that he knew was Aziraphale, reaching out to him with his very soul.

"_I love you…" _

Warmed as he was by the words, Crowley felt an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. This sort of spiritual psychic communication was nothing new to him and Aziraphale. A few whispered affectionate words, or perhaps, "_Come here, darling, I need to show you something_," passed through the air instead of shouted across rooms, held little risk. It was a lot like a radio wavelength - only those within range could hear.

For Aziraphale to reach out to Crowley over the distance of a couple of city blocks carried quite a bit more risk - especially when he knew Gabriel might be on his way to visit, and therefore within range. Crowley knew that was why Aziraphale hadn't actually used his name - plausible deniability, he could have reasonably been talking to _anyone_ \- but he also knew better than to respond, though he returned the sentiment with all of his heart.

_I'll tell him when I see him,_ he told himself as he drove across town to his flat. _It'll only be a few hours…_

Crowley had barely set foot through the door of his apartment, tossing his keys down in the bowl by the door and reaching for his phone, when someone crashed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground, sending his phone sliding across the floor to rest under his desk. Crowley tried to push the weight of his attacker off of him, tried to get up, but strong hands grabbed his own and pinned them behind his back, a heavy foot pressed against the back of his neck, holding him down.

He was immediately aware by the feeling of their presence that these were angels, rather than demons attacking him - and his stomach dropped with fear at that realization. It was not mere coincidence, he was sure, that he was being attacked by angels in his apartment, at the _very same time_ that Aziraphale was expecting a visit from angels in the bookstore.

_They're onto us…_

"Let go of me! Get off, what the Heaven do you think you're doing?" he shouted, struggling harder, creating any distraction he could as he snapped his fingers, and under the edge of his desk, his cell phone vanished into non-existence.

"Silence," a female angel spoke from a distance a bit too far to be one of the two pinning him down. "Your struggles are useless, demon. Cooperation would serve you better."

Crowley laughed, derisive and defiant, even as she moved closer to him, her hands bringing something slim and round and metal close to his neck. "Have you _met_ me?" he sneered. "Not likely that I'll-"

His words broke off abruptly as the encircling object clicked shut around his throat, not tight enough to stop his breath but flush against his skin - and immediately a searing agony tore through his head, down through every limb, the whole of his body, overwhelming every thought with a wave of white static - just before everything went dark.

When Crowley awakened this time, his surroundings were far less pleasant.

His head was throbbing, for one thing - but at least it wasn't the overwhelming, fiery agony that had sent him into unconsciousness. Just the dull after-effects, he reckoned, thudding in the back of his skull.

He was lying on cold, rough stone, and he blinked his eyes a few times to clear his vision as he sat up, realizing with irritation and an unsettled feeling that his sunglasses were nowhere to be found. On the upside, though - hands free, feet free, they'd apparently seen no reason to bind him.

_Their mistake..._

The metal device was still locked tight around his neck, and attached to it now was the weight of a heavy chain, connected at the other end to the center of the stone floor. The room was empty of any other furnishings, save only a light fixture against one wall. There was a door on one side of the room - wide open - but the chain barely allowed Crowley enough room to stand, let alone to get anywhere near it.

There was no one within sight - and that just wasn't going to cut it.

Not if he was going to find out what had happened to Aziraphale.

"Hey!" he yelled out. "Whose idea of a bloody joke is this? Come on, now, somebody come here and talk to me!"

No one answered - but he could hear whispering voices in the hall outside the cell. He waited, quiet, listening, but unable to make any of it out - and then a few moments later, two angels entered the room, one male and one female, both looking tense and anxious. He grinned at them, offering them a cheeky wink.

"Come on, then," he said. "Secrets don't make friends."

The male angel glared at him, his mouth twisting in anger and disgust as he moved in swiftly and struck Crowley across the face with the back of a closed fist. "_No one here_ is your _friend_, demon," he snarled.

Crowley steadied himself from the blow and swung out to return it, his own fist just barely connecting with the angel's jaw as the angel hastily stepped back, nearly out of Crowley's reach. He almost hadn't connected at all.

And oh, how he wished he hadn't.

The instant the blow landed, a searing jolt of agony like the one he'd felt before consumed Crowley's body, like burning up from the inside, stealing his breath and his strength and leaving him on his knees on the cold stone. He barely even felt the vicious kick aimed at his ribcage by the angel he'd struck, heard his furious words as a muffled sound, like from underwater.

The angel grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, his words slowly coming into focus as the pain and static slowly subsided. "... think you've got the right to _touch_ me, you _disgusting_…"

"Let him go."

The new voice was met with instant obedience, Crowley's hair released as the angel took a couple of hasty steps back - Crowley noticed with some measure of satisfaction, well out of his reach. Crowley saw a pair of stylish black dress shoes moving toward him with slow, measured steps, and looked up into the face of the angel who'd spoken. Immediately his mouth went dry, and he swallowed back the knot that rose in the back of his throat.

Gabriel.

This was serious, then, if the archangel was involved.

How much time had passed while he'd been unconscious? Time enough for Gabriel to have paid Aziraphale a visit, too?

Trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Crowley rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet again. Some instinct, deeply ingrained in him from his own creation, recognized the power of this being, and a part of him wanted to look away from the blinding white of Gabriel's grace. Not willing to give any of these wanker angels the satisfaction of looking away, even if the archangel's presence _was_ a bit intimidating, Crowley forced himself to maintain eye contact, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch his lower lip, bleeding now from the blow he'd been struck.

"Yeah, that punch was a bad idea," Gabriel remarked with a falsely sympathetic grimace. "I wouldn't suggest trying it again."

"Seems I won't have the chance, your man there's too bloody scared to come near a second time."

The angel seethed with anger, moving forward again and Crowley braced himself for another round; but Gabriel held up a hand in a halting gesture, not even looking at the furious angel - and he immediately backed down.

"No." Gabriel smiled, and it was a deeply unpleasant smile, touched with cruel amusement. "He's got no reason to be afraid of you, Crowley. No one has. It's just that we need you _conscious_. For the moment. And one more hit from that collar you're wearing, and you won't be."

Crowley instinctively reached up a hand to touch it, frowning.

"I wouldn't try to take it off, either, unless you want another shock like the last one," Gabriel advised. "You try to hurt anyone… try to teleport… try to take the collar off, and it _will_ take you down."

A cold, empty feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he began to understand just exactly why they hadn't bothered to bind him with anything besides the collar and chain attached to it.

"Why?" he demanded, hating the faint tremor in his voice, putting a little more force into his words so they'd hopefully attribute it not to fear - no, none of that - but to _blinding rage_, which he was most definitely beginning to feel. "What have I done that's so bloody awful you think you've got the right to step in? You take care of yours, Hell takes care of ours, that's the way it's always been! This is a bloody _war crime_, 's what it is!"

Gabriel laughed softly. "That might matter," he conceded with a little shrug. "If _one single person_ from your side knew you were here."

"Well, you'd better hope they don't find out!" Crowley retorted, moving as close to Gabriel as the chain would allow him. "Thought you lot were all about following the rules, yeah? This is about as far from that as you can get, it's bloody well unheard of! Chaining a guy up, binding his powers, without so much as a trial, or even telling him what he's done! When Hell finds out what you've done, you'll regret it." He defiantly glared up at Gabriel, a sneer twisting his lips as he declared, "Stupidest move you ever made."

Gabriel's expression didn't change, as he lashed out with his fist and struck Crowley in the side of the head, hard enough to knock him back down onto his knees. His warnings about the collar were just about a half second behind Crowley's outrage, as the demon started to rise again, ready to fight.

He was brought up short, sharply, as Gabriel stepped down on the chain close to Crowley's side, not leaving him enough slack to rise, and effectively jerking him back down onto his knees when he tried. He crouched down next to Crowley so that they were at eye level, and Crowley braced himself for another attack, for another shock from the collar, glaring at Gabriel and waiting, every muscle tense and ready.

"You know, at the moment that collar's set pretty low," Gabriel observed, casually thoughtful. "I bet you can barely feel it, right? It just kinda - makes you tired. I mean, when you're not doing something colossally stupid."

Crowley swallowed slowly, considering. No, he couldn't really feel the collar right at that moment, beyond a slight staticky buzz in the back of his head, a certain feeling of weakness and exhaustion that he'd mostly attributed to being _attacked in his own home_ and taking multiple blows to the head in the process. But - perhaps it was more than that.

"We set it low on purpose, for now," Gabriel explained. His lip curled in an expression of contempt as he continued, "You're not a _person_, Crowley. You don't get a _trial_." His tone softened. "But - we _are_ going to talk about what it is that you've done. And we do want you… coherent… for that conversation. So, for now, we've got it set on low. Binds your powers. Can't fight. Can't run. _Maybe_ if you _really focused_ all your energy, you could access enough of your power to perform a minor miracle or two - as long as it wasn't intended to hurt anyone. But - you're definitely not going anywhere."

Gabriel reached into his pocket, and took out a slim, silver device that matched the metal of the collar, and looked a bit like a remote control.

Crowley managed to hold his gaze, despite the anxious tightening in his chest.

"There _are_ higher settings, though," Gabriel remarked, sounding almost bored as he flipped the tiny device over and over in his hand. "And - the things that happen at the higher settings…" He winced a little, shaking his head. "... it can get pretty ugly." He paused, holding Crowley's gaze, his smile fading completely. "Wanna see?"

Crowley swallowed slowly, glancing down at the device for a moment before meeting Gabriel's eyes again. He kept his voice carefully low and controlled. "What do you want?"

Gabriel studied him for a moment, speculative, before apparently deciding he approved of the question and pocketing the remote control again without using it. Crowley allowed himself to relax just a little with the thing, for the moment, out of play.

Gabriel reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and took out several pieces of paper, which he tossed down onto the floor in front of Crowley. Crowley was acutely aware that Gabriel was watching for his reaction, so he did his best to offer none as he gazed down at the pictures in front of him. Even though it felt like a very small, localized earthquake was taking place in his stomach. Even though he suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe.

The pictures were of him and Aziraphale.

On the street, walking together, a few feet of space carefully between them so that the casual observer might not even realize they were together. A rather more incriminating one taken through the window of a restaurant, showing the two of them seated at the same table, having lunch. A third picture, of the two of them seated together on a park bench.

Crowley swallowed hard, tried to steady his voice and school it into something resembling boredom. "Yeah, so?" He shrugged slightly. "We met up a time or two, when there were matters of importance to both our sides to discuss. That's all."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, acknowledging Crowley's explanation with a single nod, before reaching into his jacket and taking out another picture. "This closeup of the park bench… this one's _really_ interesting."

Crowley's heart clenched in his chest as he took in the image, focused not on him and Aziraphale specifically, but on the space between them - the space on the middle of the bench where their hands rested, fingers just barely brushing against each other in a way that they'd thought was _so fucking subtle_, thought they were _so bloody clever_…

But the contact could not even remotely be mistaken for accidental.

"Where is he?" Crowley asked, quiet and careful.

"I wouldn't worry about him right now," Gabriel advised, rising to his feet again, leaving the pictures spread out on the floor in front of Crowley. "This is about _you._" His voice was calm, but angry, laced with hate. "_You_ dared to target one of Heaven's finest soldiers for corruption. Who knows how long you've been plotting this… doing everything in your power to tempt him over to the side of evil… to bring about his _Fall_…"

Crowley couldn't mask his horror at the thought. He looked up at Gabriel, shaking his head. "What? No, I didn't… _wouldn't_…"

Gabriel's mouth twisted with vindictive disgust, and he drew back his fist, delivering a brutal, silencing blow across Crowley's face. He followed it up with a vicious kick to Crowley's ribs that drove the breath from his body and left him gasping, one arm protectively wrapped across his stomach. Gabriel roughly caught a handful of Crowley's hair and yanked his head back, hard, leaning in close with a malicious smile.

"You'll speak when spoken to, demon," he declared, cold and menacing. "And you will learn what happens when a low, foul thing such as you… _dares _to put its hands on what is holy."


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale was only mildly concerned when Crowley didn't show up for their lunch date.

It was not uncommon for either of them to get unexpectedly called away by their respective home offices, and when that happened, sometimes it wasn't safe to contact the other for some time. Crowley was probably off somewhere being briefed by his demonic supervisors on the details of his next assigned temptation.

It happened, from time to time.

On the way home, Aziraphale took out his cell phone and checked the screen. It was relatively new technology - to him, anyway - but Crowley had insisted that he should have one, for just such situations as this. Given the secretive nature of their relationship, he had reasoned that there would likely be times when it would be necessary to let each other know what was going on from a distance - and Aziraphale had reluctantly agreed. There were plenty of circumstances he could imagine in which it might be far safer to send a text message than to call on a landline.

But all the way home, no matter how many times Aziraphale checked the screen, it remained quiet and blank, and his own nagging sense of anxiety grew stronger and stronger. If Crowley was in a situation where it wasn't safe to send a message, then it might be equally dangerous for him to receive one. Aziraphale resisted the impulse to call him or text him, unwilling to risk getting him into trouble.

When nightfall came, with still no word from Crowley, Aziraphale began to worry in earnest.

For most of their long relationship, they'd gone years, occasionally even centuries, without seeing each other, and Aziraphale had rarely worried, certain that sooner or later, Crowley would turn up again. But for the past fourteen years, they hadn't gone more than a few days apart. Around eight o'clock that evening, Aziraphale sent a quick text to Crowley's phone.

_Everything all right? _

He'd barely sent it when a response came through, far too quickly.

_Message not delivered._

Aziraphale frowned. He hesitated a moment before dialing Crowley's number.

_If it's not safe, he just won't answer, but I can leave him a message to call me, he'll know that I'm concerned…_

"This number is no longer in service… please check the number and try your call again…"

Aziraphale stared at his phone in confusion. That wasn't possible. Crowley had had this same phone number for a decade now. He dialed the number again, twice more… with the same result.

At this point, he was starting to feel genuinely frightened. Keeping an eye out in case he was being watched, just in case, but seeing no signs of trouble, Aziraphale hailed a cab and made his way across town to Crowley's apartment. A momentary flood of relief came over him when he saw the Bentley, parked at the curb in its usual spot. He hurried up the stairs to Crowley's door - and relief was replaced with an icy cold fist of fear clenched in his chest when he saw that it was standing open.

"Crowley?" he called out, the tremor in his voice more prominent as it echoed through the empty hall. He noted Crowley's keys in their usual spot just inside the door. As he cautiously made his way through the apartment, he saw no signs of a struggle - but then, there was little in Crowley's apartment to be disturbed.

Aziraphale thought back to that morning, when he'd reached out to Crowley across their mental connection, telling him he loved him - and received no response. He knew at the time that it was foolish and risky, and Crowley was wise not to respond, not to give any confirmation to any listeners-in that Crowley was the one Aziraphale was speaking to. But now, he had to wonder - had Crowley been _unable_ to respond? Hurt, or captured, or… worse?

He remembered their conversation that morning, Crowley's unhappiness, his quiet confession of how much he hated feeling like Aziraphale's "dirty little secret" - and the deeply unpleasant idea crossed his mind, for just a moment, that Crowley might have left on his own. Perhaps he was so very tired of hiding, tired of the danger and risk of it all, that he'd needed a break, needed to take off and be away from Aziraphale for a while?

But Aziraphale could still feel the affection and tenderness of Crowley's kiss that morning, the warmth in his eyes, and he knew that couldn't be true. Crowley would never have left him for long without at least telling him he was going, at least saying goodbye.

And even if he would haveleft Aziraphale - he'd never have left the Bentley.

As upsetting as the thought of Crowley leaving him was, it was far less troubling than the more likely possibilities. He stood there in the dark silence of Crowley's apartment and closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind, reaching out as far as he could. His mouth was dry, his heart racing; he knew this was very dangerous, but he didn't know what else to try.

_Crowley… are you there? I need a word with you, you… you foul fiend. I - I don't know what you're up to, but I'm going to figure it out. Just - come out here and face me, you… evil thing…_

He winced at his own utter lack of creativity, but it was difficult to apply any more insulting terms to Crowley, who was without question the least evil "evil thing" Aziraphale had ever met. He only hoped that the wording would throw off any suspicions the message might raise with any angel or demon who might overhear it, while also possibly allowing Crowley to safely respond without arousing suspicions on his end. He stood there a moment longer, waiting, hoping, to hear Crowley's voice coming back to him, taunting and sarcastic.

_You're just going to have to wait, featherface, some of us have lives, you know? _

or

_Wouldn't you like to know what I'm up to, halo head… good luck figuring it out. _

Generally speaking, Crowley was about as good at fake-insulting Aziraphale as Aziraphale was at fake-insulting Crowley.

But no insults, however weak - or anything else, for that matter - came across their connection.

Only bleak, terrifying silence.

Days passed, with still no word, and Aziraphale had no idea how to even look for Crowley in a way that would not draw unwanted attention from either of their respective sides. He was torn between staying at the bookshop as much as possible in case Crowley should return in need of help, and keeping the shop closed so that he could go looking for him.

He checked all of their usual secret meeting spots, repeatedly - every restaurant they frequented, the park. Anywhere he could ever remember meeting with Crowley, Aziraphale checked - with no success.

His demon seemed to have quite literally vanished without a trace.

When Crowley had been gone for two weeks, Aziraphale got an idea. It wasn't a particularly _good _idea, he knew, but he was utterly at a loss, and could think of nothing else. He spent the greater part of a week, late after the shop was closed, seated on the floor with several opened boxes of books, piles of them strewn around him.

These were not books that he'd ever allow to touch his shelves, mind. Not books he'd ever allow to come anywhere close to the hands of his all too human customers.

These days, Aziraphale was aware with some mild alarm, the occult was wildly popular among humans. As a matter of principle, he generally didn't stock the sorts of young adult series' that flew off the shelves of other shops so quickly - not because he felt they were evil or sinful, but simply because there was so very much they _got wrong_.

These books, the ones scattered around him on the floor amongst various sheets of loose leaf paper on which he'd scribbled notes incomprehensible to anyone but himself - these books were the ones that got it _right_ \- and therefore far too dangerous to ever be allowed to fall into human hands.

He carefully studied these books, taking notes and marking the places that held the information he needed, until he had found several spells and rituals, magic of the sort that he needed.

Magic to summon a demon.

Nearly a week of study yielded a half dozen different reasonably reliable spells that Aziraphale could use; another day or two to gather the supplies he would need, and Aziraphale was ready. If he couldn't reach Crowley by phone, or by way of their psychic connection, he would have to resort to magic - and just hope that Heaven did not find out about it.

Demon-summoning was generally frowned upon by Heaven. And humanity, for that matter. Really, it was pretty much frowned upon by everyone, even demons. _Especially_ demons.

But Crowley had been gone for three weeks.

Aziraphale was left with little choice.

Over the course of several days, Aziraphale tried each ritual in turn - with no success. Then he pored over the texts and rechecked his notes, and tried them all again. Still, nothing. Aziraphale's hopes sank a little more with each failed attempt; these spells were supposed to summon a demon from anywhere… from the four corners of the earth… from the very pits of Hell.

And still… no Crowley.

_I must have done it wrong,_ Aziraphale told himself. _All… twelve times…_

_Yes, I just did it wrong. That's what happened._

Because the alternative - that Crowley was just not on earth or in Hell, no longer in existence at all - well, that didn't even bear thinking about.

He gathered a couple of additional supplies and created a demon-trapping sigil on the floor of the bookshop, before trying the first spell again - only this time, substituting in the name of a lower level demon lackey Crowley had mentioned in passing recently. His heart sank a little, and he tried not to think of the implications for Crowley, when this time… the spell worked.

"You? Really?" the demon sneered at him, glancing down in disgust at the trap that held him there before glaring up at Aziraphale. "What do you want?"

Aziraphale met the demon's unnaturally glittering gaze with a cold, stern expression. "Information. What do you know about the whereabouts of the demon Crowley?"

The demon studied Aziraphale's face for a long moment, something knowing in his gaze, and a slow smile spread across his face. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach as the demon laughed. "Oh, Satan, it's _true_!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Aziraphale lied, looking away. "What's true?"

"You and Crowley!" the demon exulted. "I mean, there's been rumors, but - this just confirms it. You, going so far as to summon one of _us _in order to find him!"

_Rumors? There've been rumors? _

Aziraphale felt sick. Any such rumors were probably exactly the reason that Crowley was nowhere to be found.

"I only wish to have a - a very strong word with him," Aziraphale insisted. "He _is_ my lifelong nemesis, after all…"

"Oh, is _that_ what we're calling it these days..."

"Do you know where I can find him or not?" Aziraphale's voice was terse, barely masking a slight tremor, and he could feel a heated flush spread across his face, forced himself to meet the demon's eyes.

"Like I'd tell _you_, anyway."

Aziraphale nodded; he'd expected that response. That was why he'd come prepared for this conversation. He turned to the small table where he'd arranged his spell-casting supplies, selecting an empty, label-less water bottle before turning to face the demon again, unscrewing the cap.

"I believe it'd be in your best interest to do so."

The demon's taunting grin fell away, beady eyes locked onto the bottle in Aziraphale's hand. He rolled his eyes with a put upon sigh. "Look, I don't know where Crowley is, okay? None of us do. Believe me… we've been looking. He must have made a break for it, dude. Sorry. He's in the wind."

Aziraphale found himself desperately hoping that was true - but not quite believing it. The spell he'd just used was functional - which meant that if Crowley had simply made the choice to run off, it should have brought him back. And it hadn't. He was increasingly certain that something terrible had happened to Crowley - he just had no idea what.

"I'm telling you the truth, man," the demon insisted, watching Aziraphale with wary eyes, and Aziraphale wondered vaguely how much of what he was feeling was showing on his face. "I swear, okay? He's Hell's most wanted right now, but - we can't find him either."

"I believe you," Aziraphale assured the demon, quiet and calm as he stepped closer to the circle, his foot a bare inch or so from it, poised to break it and open the trap. "Thank you. You've been most helpful." Aziraphale hesitated a moment, letting out a regretful sigh before meeting the demon's eyes and continuing, "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't allow you to be so helpful to your superiors."

The demon stared at him in horrified understanding as Aziraphale stepped back without breaking the trap. "Hey, wait! Not cool, man, I told you everything I know!"

Aziraphale thought it best not to engage in any further conversation with the demon; it would only prolong the inevitable.

He poured the bottle of holy water out along the circle's edge. It might as well have been gasoline, the way it traced the outer and interior lines of the sigil and lit the whole thing up with flames. Aziraphale turned away from the demon's screams of agony, the scent of its swiftly melting flesh, and left the room. He knew that the trap would keep the fire contained until it went out, taking with it the remains of the demon captive - and everything he'd been unfortunate enough to know about Aziraphale's relationship with Crowley.

Less than a week after Aziraphale summoned a demon to his bookshop - two angels showed up at his door.

"Gabriel would like a word with you."

"Yes, yes, of course," Aziraphale replied agreeably with a cheerful smile, though his stomach was quaking. "I'll be right along shortly, I just need to close up the shop."

"_Now_, Aziraphale," one of the angels intoned, impatient.

The other smiled - a cold, unpleasant thing. "We'll wait."

Aziraphale stalled as much as he dared, counting out the money in the register - which was no more than had been there the previous evening - straightening shelves which had been in disarray for years. When his angelic escort began to clear their throats and shoot him warning glares, he sighed and took his coat from the rack by the door and put it on.

All along the way, Aziraphale tried to come up with a valid explanation for his demon-summoning. It helped that said demon was now dead, he supposed. He could say that he'd heard of some wrongdoing, and this demon had been involved? He could say that the demon had attacked him - no, no, that wouldn't do, as he'd clearly initiated contact first…

Aziraphale's mind raced with a dozen weak excuses, as he ascended the escalator that led to Heaven, the two angels at his back.

Gabriel was waiting at the top with a shark-like smile and a firm handshake.

"Aziraphale, hey! Glad you could make it."

Aziraphale glanced at the two angels sent to collect him before responding, "Yes, well… I'm sure you'll be wanting my report of the last few weeks…"

"No, no, that can wait." Gabriel waved a hand dismissively, putting an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders and turning to walk with him down the long, white hallway. "There's something I really want to show you first."

Once Gabriel moved out of the way, Aziraphale could see two more angels waiting at the end of the hall - standing shoulder to shoulder, at attention as if they were on guard. And behind them, there was something on the floor. Aziraphale frowned, unable to really make out the shape of it with the two angelic soldiers standing in the way. The width of it was far greater than the two angels, however, and he could see what looked like a sheet of black on the floor behind them, extending out to either side like… like angel's wings, only…

Aziraphale's stomach clenched, as he thought of the summoning spells he'd cast, to call a demon from anywhere on Earth… or anywhere in Hell. Not a single one had mentioned summoning a demon from the Heavenly realm… because they weren't supposed to be there.

And yet…

At a wave of Gabriel's hand, the two angel soldiers stepped to either side, and all at once Aziraphale's view was unobstructed. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of the demon who knelt behind them, head bowed, face bruised, wings stretched out tight to either side and chained to the floor. He was visibly battered, trembling, with his hands bound behind his back - but he was _alive_.

Aziraphale's breath left him in a rush of mingled relief and dread, as his mind filled with words he desperately wanted to speak, or at least send out as a mental message across the connection that he hadn't been able to feel for more than a month. But he didn't dare - not if he wanted those words to be true.

_Oh, Crowley, my dear Crowley, I've found you, and I'm going to get you out of here. I'm going to take you home, I promise, and everything's going to be all right…_

If only Aziraphale had even the first idea of _how_.


	4. Chapter 4

It hurt Aziraphale just to _look _at Crowley, and the ruthless amount of damage that had been done to him over the course of the past few weeks.

The demon was on his knees, his hands shackled tightly behind his back. There was a silver collar locked around his neck, Aziraphale supposed for the purpose of restraining his powers so that he couldn't simply miracle his way out of all this. His wings were stretched out to either side, and Aziraphale winced when he realized how exactly they had been restrained. Metal rings had been wedged tightly into the joints of Crowley's wings, and those rings attached to cruelly short chains which kept them pulled tight and low to the ground, so low that Crowley couldn't even kneel upright.

Certainly, Aziraphale had felt anger before, many times, when bearing witness to some of the worst humanity could do to each other - but he had never quite felt it like this: a swelling, dark heat that rose up in his chest as he took in the vast array of injuries that had been inflicted on Crowley's helpless wings - cuts and burns in various stages of healing. There were several places where the once glossy black feathers had been charred until nothing was left but ash and bone.

That Crowley was a demon didn't matter in the slightest. The idea that any angel could do this to another living being filled Aziraphale with a sense of outrage that he found difficult to control - not surprisingly, as he'd had precious little experience with it.

Crowley had yet to look up at him - had thus far given no indication that he even realized Aziraphale was in the room. His sunglasses were nowhere to be found - a detail which only served to fuel Aziraphale's rising fury. _Of course_ they'd taken his glasses away, first thing probably, and Crowley had to _hate_ that… here surrounded by enemies with his shield stolen from him. Crowley's eyes were closed, his head bowed, but Aziraphale could still see the bruises around his eyes and high on his cheek, the small cut on Crowley's lower lip.

He could just imagine how that might have happened; Crowley certainly hadn't gone quietly, of that he was sure. He had a sharp tongue and a way of easily pissing people off, even when wisdom and self-preservation would have told him to exercise caution. But the thought of some angel, _any _angel, bringing his fist down across Crowley's mouth, with him chained and helpless like this, had Aziraphale's hand clenching into a useless fist at his side.

Useless - because he couldn't give in to the impulse to attack. Not yet.

If he fought, right now, surrounded by at least five other angels - he'd lose. And Crowley would lose.

And he'd _lose Crowley_.

Aziraphale knew that it was going to be next to impossible to get out of here with Crowley as it was, but if he stood any chance whatsoever of doing so, he was going to have to pull off the best acting of his entire existence, and pretend _not to care_.

"See?" Gabriel crowed, his tone almost gleeful. "We've taken care of a major problem for you, as you can see. You're welcome."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, keeping his tone mild, calm. "Well, this explains the quiet lately."

The moment he spoke, Crowley's eyes shot wide open and he looked up at Aziraphale, stunned. Aziraphale allowed himself only a moment to hold Crowley's gaze, because he could see the desperation there, could feel his panic in the air around them… and it was all he could do not to lose control to the overwhelming impulse to go to Crowley and hold him and comfort him.

He couldn't, not now - not unless he wanted it to be for the very last time.

With an effort he tore his gaze away from Crowley and smiled coolly at Gabriel. "I'd been wondering what he's been up to, since there's been no sign of his sinful works of late."

"What he's been up to?" Gabriel grinned. "Well, see, that's the interesting bit. He's been filling us in on that…"

"It should have worked," Crowley spoke up suddenly, his voice hoarse and shaky, words spilling out quickly as his gaze darted toward Gabriel for a moment before meeting Aziraphale's eyes with desperation in his own. "Seduction's sort of my thing, isn't it? If you weren't such a bloody prude… this lot were _way_ quicker on the uptake than you, stupid oblivious angel..."

Gabriel's face twisted with fury, his smile gone in an instant as he swiftly turned on Crowley, stomping down hard on his right wing. A choked scream escaped Crowley's lips, but was broken off sharply when Gabriel grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, hard. Aziraphale watched in horror as Gabriel cruelly ground his heel down into Crowley's wing, leaning in close to speak quietly next to his ear.

Aziraphale could not hear what he said, but whatever it was made Crowley go completely silent. A visible shudder passed through him, his face falling as he shook his head a little, biting back a cry of pain.

It was his utter lack of resistance that was most disturbing. Crowley didn't even try to pull away, didn't offer defiant insults or threats. If there was any trace of what would have been truly justified anger at this cruel treatment, Aziraphale couldn't detect it beneath the overwhelming sense of _sheer terror_ rolling off of Crowley as Gabriel held him fast, no doubt spilling poison into his ear.

Aziraphale wanted to stop Gabriel. He wanted to fight, to drag the archangel away, to _do something_ to stop what was happening to Crowley - but he knew it would only make things worse. Instead, he focused on the urgent words that had cost Crowley so much added pain.

The message was clear.

Crowley had told Gabriel and the others that he'd attempted - and failed - to seduce Aziraphale. It was deeply unfair in a way that cut at Aziraphale's heart, for Crowley to willingly take all the blame onto his own shoulders in order to, hopefully, leave Aziraphale in the clear. But he didn't have time to focus on his own guilt; he had to take Crowley's sacrifice and _use it_ as a means of getting him out of here.

First… he had to get Gabriel's attention back onto himself, and off of Crowley.

"Really, Crowley," he sneered, pouring all the contempt he could muster into his voice, waiting until Gabriel stood up straight again and looked at him to roll his eyes. "Did you think I didn't know? You've always been so obvious." He forced a cold laugh. "Oblivious is not the same thing as simply _not interested_."

Gabriel let go of Crowley, stepping away from his wings and back toward Aziraphale, and Aziraphale tried to focus on this small but significant victory… tried not to focus on the way Crowley flinched a little at his words.

"So you knew he was trying to seduce you, make you fall?" Gabriel sounded surprised. He raised his eyebrows, his tone dry and suspicious. "And you just… failed to mention it."

"Didn't seem worth mentioning, as I was never even remotely tempted." Aziraphale shrugged, then sighed, waving a hand vaguely in Crowley's general direction. "I do wish you'd mentioned _this _to me, however. I've been at a loss, wondering what horrible thing he was planning. He's never so quiet for so long. And the whole time, he's been right here, while my worries have been rather wasted." He paused a moment, allowing his words to sink in before he ventured a couple of slow steps in Crowley's direction. "Earth is my jurisdiction, after all. If punishment is due this foul creature... it should have been mine to mete out."

"You'd like that?" Gabriel seemed surprised, studying Aziraphale as if he was beginning to think he might have misread him. "That's… something you'd _want_ to do?"

"Oh, most definitely," Aziraphale said softly, crouching down in front of Crowley, careful to avoid any contact with his abused wings as he reached out to brush the back of his hand down the side of Crowley's face. Crowley jerked away, his breath quickening, eyes wide and focused on the floor between them.

_Good, that's good, my love, keep him believing it…_

He didn't dare do more than think the words, aware that anything he tried to actually share with Crowley at the moment would certainly be overheard by Gabriel and the others as well. Instead, Aziraphale schooled his expression into a cruel smile, kept his tone soft and faintly mocking, as he spoke aloud.

"Your ridiculous flirtations… your pathetic overtures of 'romance'... how could you have ever thought I'd fall, for _you_? I only tolerated it at all because I felt it kept you occupied. As long as you were focusing your repulsive attentions on _me_… then you weren't doing your _actual job_." He was quiet a moment, adding finally, thoughtfully, "How I'd _love_ the opportunity to show you how I _really_ feel about you, Crowley. Truly, I would."

"Would you?"

Aziraphale looked up at Gabriel, who was regarding him with a contemplative expression, eyes narrowed slightly. Aziraphale stood up straight again and turned his back toward Crowley, placing himself between him and Gabriel.

"Yes," he replied. "I do feel it's only fair, after all. I've been dealing with Crowley for all these centuries. I'm the one who's suffered most from his vile deceptions and evil wiles. He's under my jurisdiction - my own personal adversary, if you will. As I said, things have been… quiet, of late. Peaceful. I now understand why." He met Gabriel's gaze, willing Gabriel to see the cold fury he couldn't quite hide, and believe it to be aimed at Crowley rather than at himself. "If you'll let me take him… handle his punishment… I can assure you that things will continue to be quiet and peaceful."

Gabriel tilted his head a little, considering. "You haven't really done this kind of work before, Aziraphale."

"All the more reason for me to gain some experience, yes?" Aziraphale pointed out with a cruel smirk. "With my adversary bound, regardless of where he is… I'm going to need _something_ to occupy my time."

"Well… why not?" Gabriel relented at last. "I suppose we can give it a try. You're right about one thing, Aziraphale… he _is_ under your jurisdiction, which makes him rightfully yours to punish." He smiled, clapping Aziraphale on the shoulder. "And I think you should get… _absolutely everything_ you deserve."

Of course, there was a considerable amount of paperwork.

Aziraphale dutifully filled it out while sitting at a pristine white desk that Gabriel had miracled out of thin air, watching out of the corner of his eye as the other angels stood around whispering amongst themselves, occasionally casting dubious glances in his direction. Aziraphale's mind went back uneasily to his conversation with the demon he'd summoned. If rumors were being passed about in Hell about him and Crowley, the same thing was almost certainly happening in Heaven.

There was only one reason for the angels to have taken Crowley at all, only one reason why Crowley would have felt his best option was to _confess_ to attempting to seduce Aziraphale. Somehow he had come under suspicion, his relationship with Crowley called into question - and that led Aziraphale to a troubling conclusion.

There was no way in Creation that Gabriel would _actually_ trust him with Crowley.

That was a problem for another time, however. At the moment he simply had to focus on getting Crowley home. Everything else could be figured out once he was safe.

Aziraphale was relieved to see that the angels in the room more or less ignored Crowley, who was still kneeling on the stark white floor, his body trembling with pain. Every now and then his wing would jerk a little against the bonds, and Aziraphale's heart ached to think of how much it must hurt. He had distinctly heard something crack when Gabriel had stepped down on Crowley's wing.

At one point two angels did approach Crowley from either side - but all they did was to unfasten the chains that held his wings to the floor. Immediately Crowley drew them in close to his body. He did not rise from his knees, did not straighten his posture, but rather huddled further down, as if trying to present the smallest possible target.

Aziraphale tensed when he saw Gabriel heading purposefully toward Crowley, resisting the urge to get up, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, as Gabriel grabbed Crowley by the collar around his neck, dragging him to his feet. The sick feeling in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach intensified at the way Crowley moved with Gabriel, submissive and obedient, hurrying to comply with what Gabriel wanted as Gabriel turned him around and shoved his face up against the wall.

Of course, Aziraphale was relieved, to a certain extent, that Crowley wasn't fighting, wasn't insulting Gabriel or cursing him or doing anything that might convince Gabriel to change his mind about letting Aziraphale take him. For a brief moment, Aziraphale allowed himself to hope that maybe, just _maybe_, Crowley was simply playing along - as Aziraphale was doing, simply doing what he had to do so they could get home.

But as Gabriel moved in close behind Crowley, a heavy hand at the back of his neck, speaking too quietly against his ear for Aziraphale to make out the words - the feeling of Crowley's absolute panic swept over Aziraphale in an overwhelming wave, and he knew that this was no act. Crowley was genuinely terrified of Gabriel - which was disconcerting and a little confusing. Aziraphale had never thought of Gabriel as particularly frightening. Intimidating, yes, but in that stuffy bureaucratic sort of way that didn't speak of any _real_ danger.

But now, Gabriel seemed to be _enjoying_ the power he held over Crowley. As Aziraphale watched while trying to pretend he wasn't watching, Gabriel ran a hand slowly down the middle of Crowley's back, and Crowley shivered, though Aziraphale wasn't sure if it was Gabriel's words or his touch that caused it. But Gabriel's hand stopped at Crowley's bound wrists, unlocking the shackles and snapping them out of existence. He said something else to Crowley, who responded with a hurried nod, before grabbing the collar again and leading Crowley none too gently across the room to Aziraphale's side, just as Aziraphale finished signing the last sheet of paper.

Aziraphale ventured a glance at Crowley, and his heart clenched painfully when Crowley started to kneel in front of him. Gabriel roughly jerked him back upright by the collar without even looking at him, with a sharp, "_No_."

Crowley flinched, but stood there, miserably obedient, rubbing anxiously at his sore wrists. His wings were drawn in low against his back, rustling slightly with the tremors that shook his whole body. His eyes were on the floor at Aziraphale's feet, and Aziraphale wished that he would look at him, wished that he could offer some kind of reassurance - but it was probably best if that waited until they were alone.

He wasn't quite sure he'd be able to control his own emotions if Crowley were to look him in the eye right then.

"Now let me show you how this works…"

Gabriel was talking, and Aziraphale made himself focus on what he was saying, keeping his expression impassive as Gabriel took hold of the collar again and jerked Crowley closer to Aziraphale, so that Aziraphale could see the collar's edge more clearly. Crowley remained utterly quiet and compliant, though his eyes were tightly shut, his expression taut with fear. His breath was rapid and uneven through his nose, teeth digging into the cut on his lip until he drew fresh blood in his desperation to keep silent.

"You can control the settings with this right here, take them up or down…" Gabriel indicated a dial on the outer edge of the collar, right next to a tiny digital screen that read _05_. "Or you can use this." Gabriel let go of the collar and took a step back from Crowley as he retrieved a small remote control from his pocket, holding it in his palm for Aziraphale to see. "Right now it's set around the middle… tends to keep him nice and quiet. Most of the time."

Aziraphale did not miss the dark, accusing tone of his voice, or the way Crowley shivered, his shoulders pulling in as he wrapped his arms around his torso, visibly braced for more pain.

Gabriel smiled, cold and vindictive.

"But if it's ever _not enough_… if he just keeps _running his stupid mouth_, and you need to teach him a lesson…"

Gabriel abruptly pressed and held a button on the remote, and to Aziraphale's horror, the numbers on the digital display went up - one, two, three levels until it read _08_. Gabriel watched with grim satisfaction as Crowley's legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground, his entire body curled in on itself with pain. And even through the visible agony that shook his body, Crowley remained disturbingly quiet, not allowing more than the faintest whimper to escape his lips.

Aziraphale wanted to snatch the thing out of Gabriel's hand, to tear the collar off of Crowley's throat, to hold him and comfort him and _heal _him.

He wanted to kill Gabriel. He couldn't remember another moment in his entire existence when he'd _wanted_ to kill _anything_ \- but he _wanted to kill Gabriel_.

Instead he kept his expression calm, eyeing Crowley with a single raised brow, as if the suffering of the demon at his feet meant nothing to him.

"Ten is the highest," Gabriel explained. "But you don't ever wanna leave it there too long. He'll discorporate if you do."

Aziraphale felt sick. He didn't want to know how Gabriel knew that. He hesitated, steeling himself because he had to ask. "And… how long is too long?"

Gabriel shrugged, his cool gaze never leaving Crowley's trembling form at his feet. "A few hours. Two's okay, for sure. After that - I can't make any guarantees, and if he ends up back in Hell, we've lost him and we'll never get him back."

Two hours. _Two hours_, for certain, that Crowley had been forced to endure this level of agony, and worse. Aziraphale fought to maintain a mildly bored demeanor, although rage coiled in his chest and he _longed _to strike.

"Isn't there a manual or something I can see? I don't think I really need the full demonstration."

"Sure." Gabriel smiled, snapping his fingers, and a slim white book appeared in his hand. He passed it over to Aziraphale, who tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

The very first thing he was going to look up when they got home was how to take the blasted thing _off_.

"It's… continuous?" Aziraphale allowed himself a small frown of disapproval, though inwardly he was horrified as Crowley continued to shake, struggling even to breathe through the pain that still seemed to be consuming his body.

"Yeah." Gabriel grinned, nudging Crowley with his foot. "Until you turn the setting back down. Lowest setting, he doesn't feel much at all. Middle setting's just kind of… a constant warning. The kind of pain that says, 'yeah, this sucks, but you just _know_ you're gonna find a way to _screw up again _and make it _so much worse_.' Right, Crowley?"

Crowley didn't respond, probably couldn't even hear Gabriel through the agony that racked his body. Gabriel was not at all sympathetic. His grin faded as he gripped Crowley's throat in one strong hand, leaning into his face.

"_Right_?"

"Right," Crowley gasped out, eyes closed, though tears slid past his lashes to streak his face. "'S-s my fault. S-sorry…"

Gabriel released him with a rough shove. Crowley lowered his face against his knees, his shoulders shaking as he wept silently.

"Yes, well," Aziraphale interrupted, not quite able to look at Gabriel for fear of what the archangel would see on his face. "I _do_ need him capable of walking under his own power…"

"Yeah, of course."

Gabriel nodded agreeably, leaning in so that Aziraphale could see which buttons he pressed on the remote in order to turn the setting back down to _05_, before placing the remote in Aziraphale's open palm and, to Aziraphale's dismay, crouching down in front of Crowley. He grabbed Crowley's chin and forced his head up, and Crowley cooperated, but kept his eyes carefully down. His entire body was shaking with exhaustion, tears still streaming down his face.

Gabriel's voice was low and leading, almost patient. "Lesson learned?"

Crowley nodded, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard, forcing out a choked, "Y-yes. Sorry… 'm sorry..."

Gabriel studied him for a moment before nodding once in approval. To Aziraphale's surprise and relief, his hand softened on Crowley's face for a moment before he moved it to the dial on the collar, turning it down even further until it read _02_. Immediately Crowley let out his breath in a rush, gasping, his shoulders falling, his body visibly relaxing as the pain faded.

Gabriel stayed where he was for a long moment, inexplicably expectant.

All at once Crowley opened his eyes wide, alarmed, as if just remembering something he'd forgotten. "Thank you," he whispered in a breathless rush, closing his eyes again and lowering his head. "Thank you."

"Better," Gabriel said softly, approvingly, running an almost gentle hand through Crowley's hair as he rose to his feet again, then turning toward Aziraphale with a bright smile as if nothing had happened. "Got it?"

"I believe I do."

Aziraphale did _not_ get it. Aziraphale was deeply confused and disturbed by the behavior he had just witnessed - from both Gabriel _and_ Crowley.

He cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly. "So, then, if there's nothing else…" he ventured.

"Nothing else," Gabriel assured him. "Just - be certain you're not letting him off too easy, Aziraphale. He needs to be an example to Hell - an example of just what happens when they come at us in such a... disturbingly _personal_ way. You know?"

Aziraphale gave a curt nod of agreement, looking down at Crowley, who was still drawing in deep, shaky breaths as his body recovered. He resisted the urge to reach down and help him up, instead keeping his tone cool and detached.

"Stand up, Crowley."

Crowley nodded to indicate his intention to obey, struggling for a minute or so to get to his feet. Aziraphale forced himself not to look at Gabriel, not to look at either of them as he reached out a hand to take Crowley's arm, just above the elbow - _not too tight, don't hurt him… not too gentle, Gabriel will know_ \- and led him toward the exit.

"Hang on, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale tensed at Gabriel's words, forcing an expectant smile as he turned back toward him.

"You don't want to walk him through London with those wings on display," Gabriel pointed out. "Ride home, on me."

He placed one hand on Aziraphale's arm, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to recoil in disgust. He placed the other hand on Crowley's arm, and Crowley remained still and quiet. An instant later, the two of them were standing in the dim, dusty light of the bookshop… finally, mercifully alone.

Crowley stumbled a little, off balance, his breath coming in short, rapid gasps as he blinked around the room in confusion and disbelief, as if he couldn't quite place where he was.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale was careful, reaching out a hand to steady him. "Crowley, my dear…"

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale for just a moment, eyes wide and lost… before immediately lowering his gaze, holding up an arm in front of his face and flinching away.

"S-sorry, sorry…" Crowley whispered, the words a breathless, frightened hiss.

Aziraphale stared at him in confused dismay as Crowley sank to his knees on the dusty wooden floor and let out a quiet, desperate sob.

"_Please… please, don't_…"


	5. Chapter 5

"_Please… please, don't…"_

Crowley's voice broke over the words, desolate and pleading without any real hope of mercy. He immediately flinched as he spoke them, as if he expected to be punished for speaking. Given Gabriel's reaction to Crowley's speaking without permission, Aziraphale wouldn't have found it all that surprising - if it were _Gabriel_ that Crowley was kneeling in front of, softly weeping.

But it wasn't. And the realization, the very _idea_ that Crowley might _actually think_ that Aziraphale would hurt him…

It was a shattering blow to Aziraphale's heart.

_He flinched when you touched him… he acted afraid of you then… _

Aziraphale remembered, but he'd been certain at the time that Crowley was simply playing along. If they were going to convince Gabriel to let him leave with Crowley, Crowley couldn't very well appear to be _happy_ to go with him, could he? His fearful reaction to Aziraphale's touch - it had been an act, hadn't it? Intended to back up Aziraphale's own cruel words and false threats?

_Hadn't it?_

Carefully, Aziraphale took a couple of steps nearer to Crowley. Crowley flinched, and it felt like a blade through Aziraphale's chest. "Easy, dear, it's all right now," he murmured, crouching down a couple of feet away from Crowley, reaching out a cautious hand as he might to some skittish, injured wild animal, if he were trying to convince it to let him near enough to heal it.

_Let me, Crowley… please, my love, just let me…_

Crowley lowered the arm that was protecting his face - and that had to be promising, right? No longer defending himself from an expected blow? But Aziraphale's heart sank when Crowley wrapped his arm tight around his ribs, shrinking away a little, shaking his head and whispering, barely audible, his sibilant consonants drawn out as they only were when he was angry or exhausted or … or scared. Scared to death.

"_Please… please… please…"_

"Please?" Aziraphale echoed gently, sadly, edging just a little nearer with his hand still outstretched, palm up and unthreatening. "Please what, my dear?" He waited a moment; when Crowley didn't speak, he urged him quietly, "Tell me, Crowley. What do you need?"

"Forgive me," Crowley choked out, "I-I didn't mean it, I swear it, angel, I'm s-sorry. I - I _never_ wanted, I'm so, so sorry…"

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Aziraphale insisted, frowning, deeply confused by Crowley's rambling, increasingly frantic words. "There's nothing to forgive, my dear, you've done nothing wrong."

"You could have _fallen_ because of me," Crowley insisted, voice trembling with frustration and disgusted anger. "'S what I do, isn't it? I'm a deceiver and a seducer and I nearly destroyed you, but I never wanted to, _never_, no matter what I said." Fresh tears streaked Crowley's face as he bowed his head, closing his eyes. "I know I deserve it, all of it… I know you've every right, angel, but please… please don't…" His voice broke, the rest a hoarse, barely distinguishable whisper. "I - I can't bear it if it's you…"

It was those last few words that did it - that finally made the pieces come together in Aziraphale's mind. Suddenly, he understood - and suddenly, he couldn't breathe. He knew what Crowley was afraid of now.

He was afraid that Aziraphale would do _exactly what he'd said he would do_.

Urgency, desperation for Crowley to understand, drove Aziraphale to move a little closer to Crowley, folding his own knees under him and settling down in the least imposing position he could think of and reaching out to carefully, carefully take Crowley's hand from where it wrapped protectively around his side. He reached his other hand up to cup Crowley's cheek, wincing when Crowley flinched, but allowed Aziraphale to tilt his face up a little.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his stomach rolling weakly at the way Crowley easily surrendered, allowing Aziraphale to manipulate his hand, his face, in whatever way he chose without the slightest trace of resistance. It made him feel guilty for touching Crowley _at all _\- but he had to make him understand.

"Look at me, Crowley." He kept his voice hushed and gentle.

Crowley immediately obeyed, and the anguish and dread in his eyes made Aziraphale's chest hurt. Aziraphale held his gaze, leaning in just a little closer, willing him to see the truth, to _feel_ it from his heart.

"I will _never _hurt you," Aziraphale promised. "Do you understand? _Never_. I only said that I would so that he'd let me take you. I had to get you out of there… get you _home_. I said it to _save_ you, my love, but I never meant it. I'm not going to hurt you, Crowley, I wouldn't. Not ever."

Confusion warred with the terror in Crowley's eyes, and he glanced down for a moment, uncertain, but calmer, so much calmer, and Aziraphale took that as a small victory. Crowley swallowed slowly, then looked up at him again, concluding softly, "You - you lied. To the archangel."

Aziraphale bit his lip, frowning a little, an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. When Crowley put it like _that..._

"Yes, I suppose I did," he sighed. "But there truly wasn't any other choice, my dear." His frown deepened, indignation in his tone as he continued, "At any rate, he's hardly holier than _anyone_, is he? I can't believe for a moment that the Almighty would _condone_ his actions…" He hesitated, his troubled thoughts spilling slowly from his lips before he realized he was even going to speak aloud. "And… if She _would_… I - I don't know if I…"

"You're going to fall."

Crowley's quiet, despairing words stopped Aziraphale's thoughts in their tracks.

"What?" he whispered, unable to keep the dismay from his voice.

"You're going to fall," Crowley repeated, a heartbroken whisper. "And it's going to be my fault. I've corrupted you. Stained your soul with my… _filth_."

Anger swiftly overwhelmed any rising fears Aziraphale was feeling. He was very confused by all of this. He couldn't understand why Heaven would cross the lines they had crossed and take Crowley and hurt him so badly. He couldn't understand how, even after a month of such treatment, Crowley could be so thoroughly _broken_ as to have seemingly _forgotten_ how much Aziraphale _loved_ him, that he was _safe_ here, in their home. But one thing he knew for certain, with complete clarity.

Those were _not_ Crowley's own words coming out of his mouth.

"Is that what he told you?" Crowley cringed away from the anger in Aziraphale's voice, and he immediately swallowed it back, softening his tone. "_Lies_, Crowley. Look at me." Crowley did, his agonizingly expressive eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "Those are hateful, wicked _lies_. You have never in any way harmed me, and I know that you never would. You can't force me to do anything, even if you wanted to. My choices are my own, and I alone am responsible for them. If I were to fall, it would be my own choice. Not your fault, my love, never your fault. I love you. This is not a temptation, not some … dark, secret, shameful affair. _I love you._ I've always loved you… and I'm _still here_. Because it's not a sin… to simply _love_." He paused a moment, pushing as much conviction into his voice as he could as he promised, "I'm _not_ going to fall, Crowley."

Crowley was silent, his gaze dropping again to the floor between them, the place where their hands connected. He seemed much calmer now. His tears seemed to have stopped; the violent shaking of his sobs had subsided to a sort of fine tremor of exhaustion. He swallowed slowly, blinking as he seemed to be taking in Aziraphale's words. Hesitantly, his thumb traced the inner edge of Aziraphale's wrist - and Aziraphale's heart fairly soared.

Still, a heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach… because he knew it was far from over. They were not even close to safe.

"They know about us, don't they?" he concluded with resignation.

Crowley said nothing, but his eyes darted back up to Aziraphale's face for a moment before he looked down again, swallowing slowly.

"That's why you told them you'd seduced me. You said it to protect me." Aziraphale _ached _with gratitude, with sorrow for what Crowley had endured in order to save him. He closed his eyes, unthinkingly raised Crowley's hand in his and brushed his lips across his knuckles, still trembling slightly in his grasp. "My love, you shouldn't have… you shouldn't have taken such a burden…" Frustration rose up in him and he sighed heavily. "We were so careful! How did they know?"

Crowley's lips parted as if to speak, his gaze locked onto their joined hands, just short of making eye contact. He closed his mouth again, swallowed slowly. Aziraphale waited, unwilling to push, and finally, Crowley tried again, his words carefully even and quiet.

"You - you didn't tell them."

The words struck Aziraphale like a slap in the face. He stared at Crowley, aghast, forgetting to control his tone as he replied, "_Me_, tell them? Did they _say_ that I…?" It crossed his mind to worry about frightening Crowley, but for the first time since he'd found him, Crowley held his gaze - intent, unflinching, searching for answers he desperately needed in Aziraphale's face. "Crowley, of course not! No, I did not. I would _never_…"

His words fell away… as Crowley abruptly fell apart. He broke down again, deep, painful sobs torn from his throat. But this time, it was clear that his tears were born of overwhelming relief.

"I'm sorry," he gasped out, shaking his head. "Sorry, should have known… shouldn't have believed it, I…" He couldn't seem to draw enough breath to go on, clasping Aziraphale's hand tighter and pulling him closer. "Please… please, angel, I - I need…"

What he needed was exactly what Aziraphale needed, what he'd been desperate for since the moment he saw Crowley. He'd only been holding back for want of an invitation.

Aziraphale eagerly, gratefully closed the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around Crowley and pulling him in against his chest. His body shuddering with the release of the horrible uncertainty he'd been holding onto, Crowley clung to Aziraphale, clutching at his waist, his shoulder, as he buried his face in the angel's neck and wept.

"I've got you," Aziraphale whispered, one hand rising to cradle Crowley's head as his own eyes burned with tears. "I've got you, my darling, you're safe. You're safe now…"

He knew it wasn't _quite_ true, not yet, and that was a problem they were going to have to find a way to handle. But for so long he'd feared that Crowley was lost to him forever, was _dead_, and now he was _here_, in Aziraphale's arms, loving him, _trusting_ him… and in that moment, Aziraphale could only be thankful.

They weren't safe. Not really. But here in the quiet solitude of the bookshop, so close that there wasn't even the space of a breath between them… Aziraphale knew how to make Crowley _feel _safe.

He closed his eyes and reached out across the connection they shared … such a slight distance that there was no chance of intrusion by any passing angels or demons outside. It was only him and Crowley, in all of existence, that mattered as Aziraphale focused and surrounded Crowley with the warmth of the love he felt for him. He knew when Crowley felt it, his grip on Aziraphale tightening as he gasped, nestling in even closer to the angel - and a moment later Aziraphale felt Crowley's love for him flowing back over him as well, covering them both - hot and urgent, breaking over Aziraphale in waves - but it was touched with electric streaks of fear and confusion and pain, _so much pain…_

Acting on deep-seated protective instinct, Aziraphale manifested his wings, taking a moment to let them expand and stretch, nearly filling the room, before he brought them down around himself and Crowley, wrapping them close around his wounded demon. Pure white feathers brushed against the charred wreckage of Crowley's wings, and Crowley let out a sharp whimper, gasping against Aziraphale's neck.

_Too much? _

Aziraphale sent the words across their connection, his hand gently stroking through Crowley's damp, messy hair, kissing his temple.

Crowley shook his head against Aziraphale's shoulder, clinging to him.

_It's not… not too much, just enough. Need you, angel, needed you for so long..._

Aziraphale's heart ached with the broken confession, the guilt of Crowley's suffering while he had failed to find him.

_You've got me, I'm here, _Aziraphale promised, because it was one promise he knew he could keep. _I'm here now, and I've got you, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again, my love… not ever..._


	6. Chapter 6

They stayed there on the floor of the bookshop, wrapped up in each other with the rest of the world completely shut out, for a very long time - until Aziraphale's knees ached a bit, and until Crowley's breathing had slowed, his tears had stopped, and the sharper-edged, painful emotions that Aziraphale had felt coming from him did not disappear, but at least became… _quiet._

"You shouldn't be doing this…" Crowley whispered, hoarse and harsh in the stillness. "'S too dangerous, angel. They do know about us, 's why they took me. They were hoping I'd turn on you and they'd get us both."

"But you didn't." Aziraphale felt a mingled sense of regret, and awe for what Crowley had endured to save him. He smiled, a little sadly, as he brushed Crowley's hair back from his face with gentle fingers. "Instead you told them I was innocent of any wrongdoing…"

"He didn't believe me," Crowley insisted with urgency. "I tried, but he knows I was lying. So… the only reason he'd ever let you take me…"

"It's a trap, of course." Aziraphale nodded, grim and unsurprised. He'd already reached the same conclusion mere minutes after Gabriel had granted his request - but it didn't change anything. Leaving Crowley there, to assuage Gabriel's suspicions - that was never an option. "I'm aware, my dear. But there's nothing for it, is there? Nothing but to play along and… and buy some time while we figure out what to do."

"You've got to be careful," Crowley insisted, anxious tension creeping back in around the edges of his aura as he adjusted his position, sitting up a little straighter - and then grimaced with pain as the motion shifted his ravaged wings.

Aziraphale felt awful; he should have already thought to sort out Crowley's injuries, rather than letting him sit there and suffer with them. He withdrew his wings, tucking them away as he said, "Here, let me help…" and reached out a hand toward Crowley's broken wing.

Crowley jerked it away, and Aziraphale's momentary hurt feelings were swiftly eclipsed by concern when Crowley immediately gasped at the agonizing motion, but still held up a hand between them as if to keep Aziraphale at a distance.

"You can't," he explained, his voice rough, harrowed with pain. "You're meant to be punishing me, remember? Not wasting miracles on me. If you heal me, he'll know."

Dismayed, Aziraphale opened his mouth to object, his hand still extended toward Crowley's wing. He couldn't bear the idea of simply leaving Crowley suffering, when he could so easily help him. But his heart sank as he realized, as much as he hated it - Crowley was right.

"Heaven always seems to know, every time I perform a miracle of any kind," he admitted, lowering his hand in defeat. "He'll be just waiting for me to do exactly that, won't he?"

Crowley nodded, his eyes downcast. "He's looking to trap you. That'd be the way."

"Well, then… we'll just have to resort to more human means of treating your injuries," Aziraphale concluded, resigned. He frowned as he looked Crowley over, trying to assess the damage.

His wings were covered in cuts and burns, cracked and ashen feathers mingled with more healthy ones, barely hanging on in some places. Other places were completely bare, showing through to burned, blackened flesh and bone. The wing Gabriel had crushed beneath his foot appeared to be broken. Aziraphale frowned at the greater expanse of Crowley's body covered by what appeared to be the same clothes he'd left the bookshop in a month earlier, wondering as to the extent of the injuries they most certainly covered.

His eyes fell finally on the collar at Crowley's throat, set to _02_ at the moment. He reached out a hand, carefully. When his fingers brushed the edge of the metal, Crowley tensed, but didn't pull away.

"Is it hurting you, right now?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head, gave a dismissive little shrug. "'S not bad, just a little… tingly in my head… like a little static electricity shock, only…" He swallowed hard, looking away. "... all the time."

Anger and indignation rose up in Aziraphale as he gently turned the collar, trying to get a better look at its controls. "No, that's… completely unacceptable. Here, they might not be aware of any change, if I leave the settings as they are but just take it off…"

"No, no, you can't!" Crowley flinched, raising a hand to catch Aziraphale's wrist and stop him, a touch of panic in his voice. His eyes widened on the place where he'd grabbed Aziraphale, and he abruptly let go, holding his hand up between them, placating or pleading, Aziraphale wasn't sure. Probably both. "S-sorry," Crowley whispered, quick and anxious. "Sorry, angel, it's just… it won't come off. If you try…" He swallowed, looking away.

Aziraphale felt that increasingly familiar white hot blaze of anger coiled in his stomach. "It hurts you?"

Crowley nodded, dropping the arm that had just stayed Aziraphale's hand, and wrapping it around his stomach, visibly nervous and uncomfortable.

Aziraphale frowned, considering. There had to be a way.

"If _you_ try," he quietly corrected Crowley's words. "There has to be a way, for - for whoever _controls_ the bloody thing, yes? Perhaps if I…"

"Please don't." Crowley's voice was shaking, his eyes closed. "Angel, just… don't. _Please_."

The sharp edge of desperation in Crowley's voice brought Aziraphale up short, and he immediately relented, taking his hand off the collar. "All right, I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said softly. "Perhaps we can just… turn it down to the lowest setting? I - I won't even touch it if you don't want me to, _you_ can…"

Crowley was quiet for a moment before glancing up at Aziraphale again uncertainly. "I can't," he replied, when he realized what Aziraphale expected. "Can't turn it down. Can't touch it."

"Or… it hurts you." Aziraphale kept his voice as calm and steady as he could, wrestling with his anger, all too aware that Crowley was already edging toward panic.

"Yes," Crowley whispered with a single, downcast nod. "I'm sorry."

"No need, darling," Aziraphale said softly, shifting nearer to Crowley and gently, carefully, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Come here, Crowley, yes, that's it…" he soothed him as Crowley leaned into his embrace, turning his face toward Aziraphale's shoulder. "I'll turn it down, all right? Take away… as much of the pain as I can."

Crowley nodded, letting out a soft, shaky breath against Aziraphale's neck, and Aziraphale reached across to carefully turn the dial down to _01_. Crowley didn't move his head, but he did settle a little closer to Aziraphale, his arm sliding around the angel's waist and holding onto him tightly, a slow swallow visible in his throat, before a hoarse whisper.

"_Thank you_."

Aziraphale just kissed his head, holding him there on the floor for a few minutes more, giving him time to calm down, and making an effort to calm himself as well. Because he was beginning to notice a pattern. While he was grateful for the spiritual connection they shared, grateful that they could communicate without words, that he could reassure Crowley by simply allowing him to _feel _how much Aziraphale loved him - he was beginning to see how it could potentially be harmful as well.

It was not lost on him how Crowley's near-retreat back into himself, the return of his fearful trembling and pleading words, had directly followed in the wake of the violent anger Aziraphale was feeling. Crowley was clearly feeling it, too - and reacting to it as he'd apparently _learned_ to react to Heavenly wrath.

He didn't say anything about it, just held Crowley and soothed him until his breathing seemed to have evened out again, and the trembling of his body, pressed in close to Aziraphale's, had subsided. Then Aziraphale gently pushed Crowley back a little, running a hand through his hair and silently coaxing him to look up. Crowley hesitantly did, and Aziraphale offered a warm, reassuring smile.

"Come on, then, darling," he said softly. "Let's get off this floor and get you all patched up, shall we?"

Aziraphale stood up, dusting off his trousers a bit before reaching out both hands toward Crowley. Crowley glanced up at him for a moment before hesitantly taking them and allowing Aziraphale to help him to his feet. He immediately stumbled a little, biting back a cry of pain.

Aziraphale had noticed, it was something Crowley did almost _every time _he was hurt.

He frowned as he steadied Crowley, that hot, angry darkness rising up within him again. If Gabriel had tortured Crowley so brutally, for hours at a time, all the while _demanding his silence_ in the face of it…

_He's going to pay…_

The thought and its vicious intensity startled him. He swallowed hard, shaking his head a little and trying to focus his thoughts.

_Vengeance is mine, that's what She said… focus on Crowley, on what _he_ needs right now… and it's_ not _to feel any trace of this violence growing in your heart…_

"Come now," Aziraphale said softly, "Let's go upstairs."

He wrapped a strong, steadying arm around Crowley's back, under his wings, and helped him get up the stairs to the cluttered little apartment where he lived, over the bookshop. He stopped next to the sofa and carefully drew back a little, making sure Crowley had his footing before letting go entirely.

"Wait here," he instructed. "I'll be right back."

He was fairly certain he did own a first aid kit, tucked away under the sink in his tiny bathroom - but he'd never used either, so he wasn't quite sure. Relieved when he found what he was looking for, Aziraphale stopped by the closet and gathered a couple of clean towels, then went on to the kitchen where he filled a bowl with clean warm water, and took the meter stick from its place hanging on the wall. Carefully balancing his supplies, he made his way back to the living room where Crowley waited.

On his knees _beside_ the sofa, his head resting against the arm of it, eyes closed, body slumped in sleep.

Aziraphale put down his supplies on the coffee table and crouched down in front of Crowley, filled with sorrow as he took in his battered, weary form. He had to be so exhausted, just from the events of the past hour, let alone the last month. Aziraphale hated to wake him, but knew he couldn't leave Crowley there on the floor.

And why was he on the floor, anyway? Had he simply collapsed there? Or, perhaps he thought he _shouldn't_ sit on the sofa?

_Or isn't _allowed_ to sit there…_ The nasty, creeping thought made Aziraphale's blood run cold. _A thousand times he's sat there, slept there, comfortable, this is our _home… _A month captive to Heaven, and he's this utterly broken? How? What did they do to him?_

He reached out a careful hand to gently cup Crowley's shoulder. "Crowley, my dear…"

He expected the startled reaction, as Crowley gasped and opened his eyes wide - averting them the moment they met Aziraphale's gaze. "Sorry…" He winced as he sat up straighter. "Didn't mean to…"

"Don't blame you a bit, darling. Come now, I'll help you…" Aziraphale helped Crowley get up and sit down on the sofa instead, angled to the side so that his back was turned to Aziraphale when he carefully sat down next to him. "This may hurt a bit, I'm sorry." Aziraphale winced, apologetic. "I'll try my best not to…"

"'S all right," Crowley murmured, his arms wrapped around his torso, a little shiver passing through him as Aziraphale ran a cautiously exploratory hand down the length of his broken wing until he found the exact spot where it was cracked and bleeding. "Needs doing."

"This would be so much easier if I could simply heal you…"

"_No_." It was as forceful as Aziraphale had heard Crowley since he'd found him, and he momentarily thrilled to it, until Crowley flinched, amending softly, "Sorry, 's just… you've got to be careful, angel. He's looking to trap you. Was trying to trap you just now… hoping your reactions would give you away."

"But you warned me," Aziraphale reminded him with admiration, one hand brushing down affectionately through an undamaged patch on Crowley's unbroken wing. "You let me know what you'd told them, so I could play along with it. You _saved_ me, Crowley. Yet again."

Crowley was very quiet and still, as Aziraphale carefully removed a few dead, ashen feathers, and washed over the bruised skin beneath. Aziraphale worked in silence for a little while, cleaning away dried blood and ash. He was relieved to find that most of Crowley's injuries seemed to be well along in the process of healing. To the few open wounds he found, he applied soothing ointment and wrapped them in soft, clean bandages, allowing his mind to wander through the silence as he worked.

And it brought him to a point of confusion.

"You warned me," he repeated, thoughtful. Crowley lifted his head, turning it slightly toward Aziraphale to indicate he was listening. Aziraphale closed the first aid kit and began tearing one of the old, soft towels he'd collected into long, thin strips. "And yet… you believed I'd told them about us?"

Crowley turned his head away again, his shoulders rising and falling in a sharp sigh, his head bowed - even from behind him, it was a clear reaction of shame. "I didn't believe it, not really," he insisted, soft, uncertain. He was quiet a moment before amending, "Not - not _all_ the time."

Aziraphale couldn't help feeling a little hurt. But then, he thought of how Crowley had responded to Gabriel, the way he'd submitted so completely. Somehow - _in a single month, how is that possible?_ \- Gabriel had managed to achieve a frightening level of control over Crowley. The misery of sorrow and regret in Crowley's words drove away the remnants of offense, Aziraphale's heart aching at the lost, broken sound of his voice.

"'M sorry, I - I was… _confused_…"

"You believed I'd betrayed you," Aziraphale continued, his words thoughtful and measured. Crowley flinched.

_No. No, this won't do…_

Aziraphale rose from the sofa and moved around so that he could kneel in front of Crowley, facing him on the same level, leaving no more room for misinterpretation. He reached out to take Crowley's hands and pull them away from where they were wrapped protectively around his body, holding them in his own, his thumbs stroking slowly over the backs of them and soothing away their trembling.

"You believed I'd betrayed you," he repeated gently. "And yet… you protected me. You defied your captors in doing so, and had your wing broken for it. But you _protected_ me… while believing I was the reason you were there."

Crowley shook his head quickly, anxiety rising in his voice. "I don't believe that, not anymore, angel, I'm so…"

"_Crowley_." Aziraphale stopped him, releasing one of his hands to tilt his head up again, meeting his guilty gaze with warmth and something akin to awe as he cupped his bruised cheek. "My dear, beloved boy… you must stop apologizing to me, because what I owe you is my gratitude, and nothing less. That you could believe me to have hurt you so… and love me still."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a long moment, the worry in his eyes slowly fading as he took in the actual words Aziraphale was speaking. His voice was hoarse, weighted with the certainty of his devotion when at last he replied, bewildered, as if Aziraphale simply should have _known_.

"_Always_, angel."

And Aziraphale just _melted_. His hand slid around to the back of Crowley's head to run through his hair as he rose up on his knees, closing the distance between them and kissing Crowley… gently, so gently, at the corner of his mouth that wasn't bruised and bleeding. Crowley turned his head, following the contact, seeking more, one hesitant, shaking hand rising to touch Aziraphale's face.

"Wait, wait, love…" Aziraphale gasped out. He closed his eyes, forcing back his own desire even as the wave of Crowley's _want_ crashed into him. "Your wing, it's broken, I have to… have to fix it."

Crowley frowned, resting his forehead against Aziraphale's, lips parted to protest, and as much as he could feel Crowley's desire for contact and closeness, he knew him well enough to know, even before he could speak aloud, that his objection was to something more than Aziraphale's pulling away.

"The _human_ way," Aziraphale promised. "As much as I'd love to just heal it away. I understand, you're right."

Crowley bit his lip, nodded against Aziraphale, drew back reluctantly. Just as reluctantly, Aziraphale got up and moved back to his spot behind Crowley. He carefully ran a hand down Crowley's good wing, unable to suppress an affectionate smile when Crowley shivered under his touch. He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to Crowley's shoulder.

"Soon, love," he promised. "But not just yet."

Crowley nodded, his voice broken and breathless. "Yeah… all right."

"This… is going to hurt." Aziraphale grimaced. "I'm sorry."

Crowley nodded again. "Do it." He folded his arms on the armrest in front of him, leaning forward and resting his head in them so that his voice was muffled. "Do it _quickly_."

"Right. Yes."

Swiftly Aziraphale snapped the cracked bone back into place. Crowley's entire body jerked reflexively, and Aziraphale heard him gasp for breath - but he did not cry out, barely made a sound.

It made Aziraphale_ furious _\- but not with Crowley.

"There, love," he breathed out, relieved. "All done now. Worst is over."

Crowley nodded into his folded arms, his body still shivering with the pain.

Aziraphale continued speaking softly to Crowley as he worked, telling him what he was about to do before he did it as he lined up the meter stick with the broken bone and then carefully wrapped and tied it into place with the strips of towel. Crowley remained in the same position the entire time, but as Aziraphale worked, he noticed his body gradually relaxing, his breathing evening out, slowing. Aziraphale allowed his steady stream of quiet words to fade out, and by the time he was finished, he was quite certain that Crowley had fallen asleep.

Aziraphale hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to just let Crowley sleep, hating to inflict any further discomfort on him after all that he'd been through - but he knew they weren't finished yet.

"Crowley, dear…" he kept his voice hushed and cautious, reaching out to touch Crowley's shoulder, and was gratified when Crowley didn't flinch away this time, just sleepily lifted his head, turning it toward Aziraphale's hand. "Can you turn around?"

Crowley obeyed, his movements slow and weary. Carefully he turned to face Aziraphale, gingerly resting his wings across the arm of the sofa behind him.

"There we are, feeling a little better?"

Crowley nodded again, his head heavy with exhaustion. "Pain's fading," he confirmed, his voice raspy with sleep. "Better now it's set. It'll heal, just… a bit slower than without…" He gestured vaguely toward the collar.

Aziraphale glared at it. He was determined that it would _not _be a problem for long.

"Very good." He nodded, unwilling to start an argument for which Crowley was far too tired. "Wings sorted, then. Now that just leaves… everything else." Aziraphale sighed with an apologetic little grimace. "We'd best get it done so you can sleep. Would you please remove your shirt, dear?"

Crowley froze. His eyes were wide, focused somewhere around Aziraphale's waist. "There's not much to see there," he insisted. "Mostly… mostly he focused on my wings…"

Aziraphale frowned, aware that there was something Crowley _wasn't_ saying, something he was missing.

"Perhaps I should take a look, just to be certain?"

"_Please_." Crowley's voice was low and subdued, but urgent, wobbling dangerously, his eyes welling with fresh tears. "C-can I just rest? Just… not tonight, angel, _please_?"

Aziraphale couldn't possibly have refused him. "Of course, darling," he relented, shifting closer to Crowley and sliding an arm around his waist. "You needn't even ask, I only wish to help you."

Relief pushed the edges of Crowley's control, and the tears he was barely controlling slid silently down his face, just in time for Aziraphale to see before he leaned forward, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No need," Aziraphale assured him, raising a hand to rest at the back of his head, wrapping his other arm around him carefully. "It's all right, whatever else there is, we'll figure it out in the morning."

Crowley raised his head to look at Aziraphale through troubled eyes, his lips parted as if there was something he wanted to say - but he said nothing, lowering his head again, trembling hands reaching out and grasping at Aziraphale's sides, pulling him closer, his shoulders quaking as he gave in to his tears and cried silently.

A hollow, empty ache settled in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach - a certainty that there was much of this situation that he knew nothing about.

But there'd be time. Time enough to move at Crowley's pace and let him share what he would as he was ready.

Aziraphale settled down into the sofa so that he was half-lying, half-sitting, pulling Crowley down with him so that he was resting on Aziraphale's chest. He hesitated a moment before snapping his fingers and miracling the soft blanket from his bedroom into the living room and settling it comfortably over them both.

Gabriel had no way of knowing that he hadn't performed that one for himself alone.

"There we are," he said in a hushed, soothing tone, his fingers stroking slowly, rhythmically through Crowley's hair. "Just rest, my dear, you're safe… hush now, I've got you, you're all right now…"

And Crowley slowly relaxed against him, his tears giving way to his exhaustion, until he drifted off to sleep at last. For once in his long existence, Aziraphale was actually quite tired, too. Sleep sounded good.

But Aziraphale would not be able to sleep for a very long time.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley was drifting, comfortable and quiet, warm and safe.

He could feel the comforting weight of the blanket draped over him, velvety fabric brushing against his wings. He could feel the familiar softness of Aziraphale's body beneath him, his angel's arms wrapped around him, one at his waist and the other gently carding through his hair. The ever-present pain in his body was muted… distant.

But… still there.

Getting a bit stronger, actually. He shifted a little, settling in closer to Aziraphale's warmth, and... yes, _there_ it was, a searing stab of pain that shot down the length of his wing with the movement. The pain was a signal - a warning that reality would soon be closing in again.

_No, no, I don't want to wake up, not yet… please, just a little longer… _

Crowley loved sleep. But sleep was a privilege he was rarely permitted, an escape into the healing balm of memory. And waking - waking meant burning and breaking and hoarse screams and cruel hands tearing at him until there was nothing left but tattered, worthless remnants.

"_Worthless… nothing… why would he come for you?"_

He trembled, wings aching, body burning, like holy water streaks against his skin. He closed his eyes tight, tried to fall back into sleep, clung to the memory of Aziraphale as if he could hold onto it and keep it there with him, despite the pain.

"_You're nothing… nothing but _mine_…"_

"Crowley… Crowley, love, wake up, it's all right…" Aziraphale's voice was hushed but urgent, his breath warm and soft in Crowley's hair - _so real, but can't be, not here_ \- "You're safe, we're home, you're here with me, love, wake up… _wake up_…"

Crowley opened his eyes, blinking in the dusty sunlight that filtered through the window high overhead. He was in Aziraphale's living room, on Aziraphale's couch, limbs tangled all up with Aziraphale's. Aziraphale was touching his hair, touching his face, trying to get him to lift his head.

_Can't be real, can't be..._

"Look at me, Crowley… look at me a moment…"

_No, no, not supposed to, please don't make me…_

"_Eyes on the ground where they belong, you worthless demon filth… don't you _dare _look at me!" _

"_Crowley_. Darling, please… just look at me."

_Not supposed to, but he's _telling_ me to, I have to, quick, he'll be angry, just do it, you stupid little nothing, do it now, _do it now_…_

Crowley forced his gaze up toward the sound of Aziraphale's voice. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes met brilliant blue, Aziraphale's face filled with concern, his hand on Crowley's face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

"You're all right," Aziraphale murmured, reassuring. "You're all right, you're home now and you're safe."

Crowley just stared at him for a long moment, drinking in the familiar curves and lines of his face, then glanced around at the familiar room - too accurately detailed to be a dream. All at once he could breathe again, and he gasped, lowering his head to rest against Aziraphale's shoulder, grasping at his sides and pulling himself in closer to his angel.

"It's real," he breathed out. "It's real, it's real…"

"_Yes_." There was a sort of fierce reassurance to Aziraphale's tone, though his voice trembled a little as he cradled Crowley's head against him, his free hand resting, low and cautiously light against Crowley's back. "Yes, my love, it's real. You're home."

After a few moments, Aziraphale shifted a bit under Crowley, moving to sit up, and Crowley reluctantly backed off enough to allow it. But Aziraphale did not seem in any hurry to sever their contact, reaching out to take Crowley's hand while carefully placing his other arm around Crowley's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he said with a little grimace. "I'm… not quite sure where it's safe to touch you, without having seen…"

Crowley reached up and caught Aziraphale's hand, firmly moving it downward until it was wrapped squarely around the middle of his back. He didn't even wince, despite the fact that Aziraphale's arm scraping down over a half-healed burn felt as if it'd set it freshly aflame. He made himself hold Aziraphale's gaze, despite the cold clutching fear that filled his chest every time he made eye contact - because he knew that nothing less would convince Aziraphale that he was telling the truth.

He wasn't.

"Told you, I'm fine, angel. It's just my wings. Nothing else that needs attention. Give me a few days, I'll be right as rain."

Aziraphale studied him for a long moment, and it was all Crowley could do not to look away under the scrutinous intensity of his piercing gaze. But at last, Aziraphale's expression softened, and if he was less than convinced that Crowley was telling the truth, he had at least been convinced to pretend that he was.

"All right, my dear," he said mildly, rising up a bit in his seat to press a kiss high on Crowley's cheek, and Crowley finally closed his eyes, lowering his head and resting it in the crook of Aziraphale's neck.

"Don't care _where_ you touch me," he insisted, voice low and muffled against Aziraphale's shirt. "As long as you _do_."

Aziraphale laughed softly, a sound achingly familiar and so long missed, and the gentle vibrations of it went all through Crowley, warming him and easing his fears. Aziraphale brushed a kiss into his hair, his voice a low, private murmur.

"I believe I can manage that."

Crowley shivered a little, wriggling a bit until he'd managed to somehow, impossibly, get even _closer_ to Aziraphale. They remained in comfortable quiet for a little while, Aziraphale's arms around Crowley, one hand gently stroking up and down his back. It stung a bit, his fingers brushing lightly over the few injuries that remained there - but Crowley wasn't _entirely_ lying. Most of his injuries were well on their way to healing, and if the price of Aziraphale's arms around him, Aziraphale's hands on him, was a tiny bit of mild pain, well…

It was a small price to pay. He'd suffered far worse.

After a while, Aziraphale let out a contented little hum, shifting a little and sitting up, and Crowley reluctantly moved away a little.

"If we stay here like this much longer, I believe we'll be sleeping again," Aziraphale remarked lightly.

Crowley saw no problem with that whatsoever.

"Breakfast?" Aziraphale offered.

"Not hungry," Crowley replied, tugging just a little at Aziraphale's hand, swallowing back the pleading words that rose in his throat.

_Stay with me…_

"Nonsense," Aziraphale breezed, rising to his feet. "You're going to have to heal like a human, that means you need to eat. Lots of protein, my dear boy." Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand affectionately before gently pulling his hand away. "I can't heal you, but I can do this. Let me take care of you."

Crowley couldn't think of a way to refuse such a request. He sat there in the peaceful stillness and allowed his eyes to drift shut again, relishing the warmth of the sun through the window, listening to the comforting sounds of Aziraphale bustling about the kitchen, and in spite of himself, enjoying the tempting smells that began to fill the small area.

He didn't feel much like eating; food had never been as pleasurable for him as it was for Aziraphale. In fact, as they sat at Aziraphale's tiny, crowded dining table, Crowley found himself rather casting longing looks toward Aziraphale's liquor cabinet instead.

_Bad idea, that,_ he reminded himself. _Human power levels might just mean human tolerance, as well. _In a way that didn't sound all that bad - obliterating every trace of memory he had in a haze of alcohol. But, without his usual demonic constitution, he couldn't be sure how he'd respond. _That way leads to losing control… letting things slip… spilling secrets that most definitely need to stay unspilled..._

_No. Very bad idea._

He averted his gaze and took another bite of the admittedly quite well-prepared eggs on his plate, glancing up at Aziraphale as he did - and the beaming smile on Aziraphale's face made it a small sacrifice indeed.

As they finished their meal, Aziraphale leaned across the table a bit, enough to reach out and take Crowley's hand. Crowley glanced up at his face, and swiftly looked away at the solemn, searching expression he found there. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he focused instead on their joined hands on the table, Aziraphale's thumb stroking slowly, soothingly, across his palm.

"Do you feel like you could… could tell me what happened?" Aziraphale asked after a weighted silence.

Crowley swallowed slowly, with an effort steadying his voice before he ventured to speak in quiet, measured words. "I got home that day, and… they were waiting for me. Three of them. Overpowered me, got this _thing_ on," he gestured with disgust at the collar. "And… and that was that. Couldn't fight 'em after that. One punch, and… well, it'd go off, same as if I tried to take it off."

Aziraphale's hand stilled, and when Crowley glanced up at him his mouth was tight and angry. Crowley suppressed a shiver, forcing himself to go on.

"They'd been watching us for a while. Had pictures. I denied everything, for - for a long time. But - he didn't believe me. Wouldn't stop, so… I figured… they'd already _got_ me, yeah? Weren't letting me go, no matter what I said, so… didn't mean they had to get you, too."

He stopped, unable to think of anything else to say that didn't _hurt_ too damn much. The memories were already flooding his mind, his heart thudding too quick, his mouth dry and his breath shallow and useless.

"It's all right, dear, you don't have to go on," Aziraphale reassured him, rising from his seat and swiftly moving to stand beside him and embrace him.

Gratefully, Crowley turned his face against Aziraphale's stomach, reaching up a hand to rest at Aziraphale's waist, just breathing in deeply of his warm, familiar scent and trying to calm his racing thoughts, breath, pulse.

"I'm so sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale continued, his voice guilty and aggrieved. "I really did look everywhere for you. It never occurred to me that you might be in Heaven, I mean, Heaven and Hell have _always_ simply dealt with their own. I did think perhaps Hell had taken you. I even summoned a demon to ask after you, but they knew nothing. And this whole month you've been locked away, suffering unspeakably, when I could have found you so easily had I only known…"

Crowley was admittedly only half-listening, just letting the sound of Aziraphale's voice wash over him without really focusing on the words, as he slowly calmed down - just in time to catch the last bit. And his stomach dropped, his muddled thoughts stuttering to a stop. He frowned, pulling back a little and looking up at Aziraphale.

"Wait, _what_? How - _how _long have I been gone?"

"It's been a month," Aziraphale grimaced, apologetic. "I'm so sorry I wasn't quicker…" His voice trailed off as he finally seemed to register Crowley's expression, and he frowned, troubled. "Why? How long did you think it had been?"

Crowley's mouth felt dry. He felt sick with confusion, a strange creeping sensation of dread crawling up his spine as he thought back over the time he'd been away, thought over the endless hours of torment and degradation, trying to focus on the timing and not the vivid, visceral memory of blood and heat and pain.

Because… it simply didn't make sense. He shook his head a little, his voice haunted and ragged as he finally managed to answer Aziraphale's question.

"... _Longer_."

_Crowley might have been a bit more concerned about the angels' intention to interrogate him for information about his relationship with Aziraphale - if they hadn't been so laughably _bad_ at it. _

_He wasn't going to tell them anything, not ever. That was a certainty, no matter what they did to him. _

_But thus far, what they had done to him was pretty thoroughly unimpressive. _

_Three or four different angels had come into his tiny stone cell, for a few hours at a time, all demanding details as to the nature of his relationship with Aziraphale, the reasons for their meetings, details of their discussions. When he refused to answer their questions, they'd hit him with their fists, or kick him, or knock his head into the stone wall behind him - but he hadn't seen so much as a single weapon thus far. _

_They hadn't even touched the collar. _

"_Look, I know Heaven's a bit limited in the torment department," he conceded, smirking at the angel standing over him with a decidedly not-all-that-menacing glare. "But this is just _sad_, isn't it? You think a bit of one-sided fisticuffs is going to leave me weeping and pleading at your feet for a chance to confess my sins and seal my fate?" He scoffed, running his tongue across his teeth, tasting copper - smiling anyway. "Ever hear of a bloody _rack_?"_

"_You want me to go find one?" the frustrated angel snarled, the fist curled at his side raised threateningly. _

_Crowley rolled his eyes. "Just thought you could use some assistance. Not exactly the most creative of torturers, are you? I've plenty of helpful suggestions." _

"_He's right, you know. You suck at this." _

_Crowley looked up at the sound of Gabriel's voice, suddenly uneasy. He hadn't seen Gabriel since that first day when they'd taken him. Instinct told him to get up, to get ready to fight. He glanced uneasily at the chains that bound his wrists to the wall behind him, positioned low enough to keep him on his knees. _

"_What?" the angel sputtered, eyes wide, clearly offended. "I'm doing my…"_

"_He's experienced the worst _Hell _has to offer," Gabriel pointed out. "You think this child's play is going to get the job done?"_

"_We're angels," the underling pointed out, a little sullen, resentful. "We're not _supposed_ to be the best at torture."_

"_We're supposed to be the best at everything," Gabriel countered, meeting Crowley's eyes as he spoke. He hadn't once actually looked at the angel he was berating. Still, he somehow knew when the angel opened his mouth to protest again, and cut him off before he could speak. "_Leave_." _

_The angel obeyed… and Crowley was alone with Gabriel. _

"_All right, then," Gabriel said, crouching down in front of Crowley so that they were face to face, reaching out a hand to brush through Crowley's hair in a gesture that was patronizingly affectionate. "Let's talk, shall we?" _

_Crowley instinctively jerked away from Gabriel's hand, glaring at him. _

_Immediately Gabriel's smile faded away as his hand darted out to grab a handful of Crowley's hair and yank, hard, simultaneously jerking his head back and pulling Crowley closer to him so that his wrists strained against the chains that bound them to the wall. Gabriel's voice was calm, commanding. _

"Do not..._ pull away from me." _

_Crowley couldn't break his grip, knew better than to fight too hard lest the collar around his throat punish him for fighting. He kept still, glaring up at Gabriel in silent defiance. _

_Slowly, Gabriel smiled. Then he snapped his fingers, and instantly Crowley's shirt and jacket vanished, leaving the upper half of his body fully exposed. Alarmed, Crowley tried again to pull away. Gabriel pulled hard on his hair, forcing Crowley's head back until he felt he was genuinely in danger of having his neck snapped. Gabriel leaned in close to Crowley's ear, his voice soft, breath warm against Crowley's skin. _

"I said… don't_." _

_He snapped his fingers again, and there was a wickedly sharp, gleaming silver dagger in his hand. He watched Crowley's face as he brought it close to his parted, softly panting lips. Crowley could feel the heat pouring off the weapon, knew immediately that the blade was blessed. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his heart racing. _

_Gabriel's mouth twitched up at the corner in amusement as he moved the blade lower, bringing it just _almost_ into contact with Crowley's very exposed throat, holding Crowley's gaze. His voice was quiet, almost intimate. _

"_You and I both know… this is gonna hurt a hell of a lot worse than anything those idiots have tried so far. Right?" _

_Crowley didn't respond, his eyes drifting from Gabriel's face to follow the blade as Gabriel continued to move it lower, down the front of his chest. _

"_It doesn't have to, though," Gabriel continued, casual. "You can just - confess. Right now. Tell me about you and Aziraphale, tell me everything - and I won't even have to use it." He allowed the side of the blade to drag across the base of Crowley's ribcage, and Crowley drew in a sharp little hiss at the searing heat of it. Gabriel gave a falsely sympathetic wince, shrugged a little. "Up to you." _

"_Already told you," Crowley whispered, breath shallow with anticipation of pain, but still calm and level as he met Gabriel's eyes again. "I've nothing to confess." _

"_Yeah, see… I don't buy that." Gabriel shook his head. "We've got the pictures, Crowley. We already _know_ what they mean. I just need you to confirm what we already know." _

_Crowley considered that for a moment - and a slow smile spread across his face. _

_He understood, now. _

_If this had been Hell, armed with such evidence against him, he couldn't have possibly hoped for any sort of a fair trial. As a demon, clearly, he couldn't expect that here in Heaven, either. _

_But Aziraphale could. _

_Heaven needed more than a few blurry snapshots before they could consider it enough evidence to actually hurt one of their own. In order to truly punish Aziraphale, they needed more proof, such as perhaps, someone to bear witness against him. _

_They wanted _Crowley_ to bear witness against him. _

_Which was, in a way, a tremendous relief - because he could be absolutely certain, that was one thing they would _never_ get. _

_Whatever happened to him - Aziraphale would be safe. _

"_You _both _crossed the line," Gabriel was still talking, clearly in love with the sound of his own voice. "Betrayed your own sides. Why should you be the only one getting punished for it? Why don't you just tell me how it really happened. Tell me everything. You do that…" Gabriel moved the blade away a little, giving Crowley a bright smile, "... and we'll let you go. Take care of our own, and… let Hell take care of you. Unless you can skip town fast enough. And I bet you could. You could still come out on top here, Crowley. More or less." _

_Crowley remained silent, his eyes on the blade as Gabriel brought it close again, close enough to Crowley's face that the burn of it made his eyes water._

"_So what do you think?" Gabriel offered again, softly. "Is there anything you'd like to say? Before I get started?" _

"_All right, yeah… yeah, there is," Crowley relented at last, a little breathless, dragging his gaze away from the blade with an effort and meeting Gabriel's eyes again - and then grinning up at him defiantly. "Fuck you."_

_Gabriel's smile faded into fury, his jaw twitching, his eyes blazing, and Crowley braced himself as Gabriel's fist clenched around the blade - but then the archangel looked down, shaking his head ruefully at his own reaction. _

"_All right, then," he said - patient, indulgent, his hand softening in Crowley's hair, and then releasing him entirely as he leaned back a little. "We'll do this your way." _

_And with a softly malicious smile, he sliced the blade down across Crowley's chest._


	8. Chapter 8

_Gabriel was right about one thing. _

_Things became much, much worse for Crowley the moment Gabriel took over his interrogation. _

_With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's chains were rearranged, so that he was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists, the balls of his feet barely touching the cold stone beneath them - which he could _feel_ now, as well as every chilly draft and every teasing, threatening brush of the blessed blade over some new part of his body… because Gabriel had immediately miracled away all of Crowley's clothing. _

"_What can I say?" Gabriel grinned, pacing slowly around Crowley and tapping the blade idly, harmlessly into the palm of his hand. "I like to have options." _

_Gabriel was far more imaginative than Crowley's previous torturers had been. _

_He took his time, experimentally applying the blade in various places, with varying intensity. Sometimes he'd use it to draw blood, slicing into parts of Crowley's body he thought would be most sensitive. Other times, he'd simply lay the flat of the blade against Crowley's skin and hold it there for a while. Every time, after giving Crowley a few moments to catch his breath from the pain, he'd ask the same questions again. _

"_Why were you meeting with Aziraphale? What is the nature of your relationship? How long has it been going on?" _

_Crowley was considerably less creative than Gabriel in his responses. Generally speaking, Gabriel just got the same two words, over and over again. Oh, once in a while Crowley would mix it up a bit, with a "Fuck off," or "Go fuck yourself," or on one occasion, "Burn in hellfire, you fuckwit wanker."_

_There always seemed to be a "fuck" involved. _

_But mostly, Crowley kept it classic, if not exactly classy, giving Gabriel the same answer, regardless of the question, regardless of how many times it was asked or how much pain preceded it. _

"_Fuck you." _

_Crowley tried to guess at the length of time he'd been here, but it was nearly impossible to keep track in a tiny, windowless room with no trace of outside light. He was also aware that the pain was surely distorting his perception of time. What felt like hours might have been minutes. What felt like weeks might have been days. _

_It felt like an eternity, so… Crowley really had no bloody idea how much time had passed. _

_He tried counting Gabriel's visits. Surely Gabriel had other things to do besides just torturing him. He was a bleeding archangel, wasn't he? He had a large portion of Heaven to run. Maybe he was coming once a day? Once every couple of days? It was impossible for Crowley to gauge how much time passed between visits. _

_Largely, because of the collar. _

_When Gabriel's first visit was over, the archangel calmly wiping down his blade on a pure white cloth he'd magicked out of nowhere and putting it away, Crowley'd felt a rush of relief. It was short-lived, though, because Gabriel immediately closed in on him, catching a handful of Crowley's hair to hold him still and smiling as he reached for the collar and turned it up to 05. _

_It was bearable - but only just. Enough pain to steal his focus, to make stringing together any sort of coherent thought extremely difficult. It was enough pain to make sleep impossible - not that Crowley could have slept in the position Gabriel had left him in - a position which swiftly became agonizing. _

_Finally, after what was certainly hours, if not days, Gabriel returned and turned the collar down, snapping his fingers to allow Crowley's weary body to drop to the floor. Crowley gasped for breath as the pain swiftly receded, and the feeling slowly returned to his limbs. _

_And Gabriel leaned in close to ask his questions._

_Crowley looked up at him with a weary smile, and gave his answer. _

_And Gabriel smiled, too, as he took out his blade. _

_When he left hours later, still without the answers he sought, he turned the collar up to 05 again. _

_Time was meaningless, passing back and forth between one means of suffering to the next, the only thought that Crowley could hold onto being that he _could not _betray Aziraphale, _could not_ confess, no matter what Gabriel did. _

_And then, even that thought was gradually driven from his mind until all he could focus on, all he could be aware of was the white-hot wave of pain that consumed his body - from the collar, from hundreds of burns and cuts, until he couldn't even _comprehend_ Gabriel's questions any longer, much less answer them. _

_So Gabriel put the blade away, knelt down next to Crowley and passed a gentle hand across his brow, down over his huddled body, shivering on the cold stone - and every trace of damage, every bit of pain faded away into nothingness. Crowley blinked up at him, head clear at last, but utterly bewildered - heart sinking at the cruel smile on Gabriel's face as he took out his blade again. _

_Over and over, Gabriel would torture Crowley until he was beyond even feeling it, then heal him and offer him the chance to confess - before starting in all over again. And with each time, his frustration became clearer, his actions more brutal, his cool smile more brittle and forced. _

"_I don't know, Crowley, I'm getting really tired of repeating myself," he remarked, casual, almost friendly - but with blazing resentment in his eyes. "Aren't you?" _

_Crowley grinned up at him, flippant and careless, though he felt sick with dread. "Nah." He shook his head, dismissive. "I'll never get tired of telling you to go get fucked." _

_Gabriel's mouth twisted into an ugly, angry expression and he backhanded Crowley with his fist, knocking his head into the wall. A wave of darkness momentarily clouded Crowley's vision and he thought he might have the reprieve of unconsciousness - but he wasn't that lucky, not here, not ever. _

"_Fine." Gabriel snarled. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley found himself once again suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. "You don't wanna talk? We won't talk." _

_He snapped his fingers again, and a small table appeared next to him. On it was a clean white cloth, a long, white strip of fabric, and a white bowl filled with water. _

_Crowley could smell that it was holy. _

"_Don't worry," Gabriel assured him with a cruel smile. "It's diluted. It won't kill you." He grabbed Crowley's hair again, moving in very close to him, vindictive satisfaction in his low, furious voice. "It'll sure fuck you up, though. You'll _wish_ it'd killed you." _

_He stepped away from Crowley for a moment, picking up the white cloth and dipping it into the bowl, soaking the fabric with the water. As he moved back toward Crowley, he wrung it out onto the floor, chuckling a little as a few drops hit Crowley's bare legs, and he hissed in pain and tried uselessly to pull away, only succeeding in wrenching his arms as they were briefly forced to support his weight. _

_As soon as Crowley realized what Gabriel intended, he tried to stop him, but Gabriel was much stronger, and Crowley could only move so much, restrained as he was. Panic choked him as Gabriel caught hold of his jaw and forced his mouth open, cramming the wet cloth inside. Crowley tried to pull away from Gabriel's grasp, tried to spit it out, unable to hold back the strangled cry of pain that rose up in his throat - but Gabriel took the strip of cloth from the table and tied it tightly into Crowley's mouth so that he couldn't be rid of it._

_Searing agony consumed Crowley's mouth, the caustic liquid burning a trickling trail down the back of his throat. He gagged and struggled and uselessly tried to expel it, while Gabriel watched for a few moments with undisguised amusement. _

"_There," he remarked, satisfied. "That'll teach you to run your mouth." _

_And with that, he turned and left the room. He didn't come back for a very long time. _

"Longer?" Aziraphale echoed Crowley's words, confusion on his face. "How much longer?"

Crowley shook his head, at an utter loss. He felt shaken… lost. "_Longer_," he repeated helplessly. "I don't know. I don't understand how it could… Does - does time work differently in Heaven?"

"No," Aziraphale said. "Not generally." He was quiet for a moment, considering. Then he bit his lip, visibly hesitating before he spoke. "Angels do have power to alter memories and perceptions. Perhaps… not all of what you remember was real?"

Crowley felt as if he'd been slapped, a heated flash of anger and resentment passing through him. "It was real," he snapped, insulted, jerking away from Aziraphale's arm around him, his hand in his hair.

"All right," Aziraphale swiftly relented, holding up his hands in an appeasing gesture, a worried, guilty look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Crowley, I believe you."

Crowley rose from his seat, moving away from the table - away from Aziraphale. He didn't want to be close right now. He felt trapped, suffocated, his breath coming with an effort as he paced the floor, raking a hand back through his hair.

"I don't understand," he repeated, hating the desperation in his own shaking voice. "I don't understand…"

"Crowley, it's all right," Aziraphale insisted, his voice so soft and cautious that Crowley _hated_ him for it… just a little bit. "What does it matter how long it was, really? You're safe _now_. There's no need to worry about details that don't make any difference to what's over and done."

"It's _not_ over and done," Crowley muttered, sitting down on the sofa and lowering his head into his hands. "It's not, not even close..."

Aziraphale sat down beside him - too gentle, too careful, and Crowley resisted the impulse to stand up and start pacing again - resisted the urge to pull away from the light hand Aziraphale placed against the middle of his back.

"I know," Aziraphale agreed with a little sigh. "We're still at risk, Gabriel will be watching for us to slip up. We've knowingly walked into his trap, and until we can find a way out of it… but we _will_ find a way out of it, I promise you!"

That wasn't what Crowley had meant. At least, it wasn't _all_ that he'd meant.

"I just… don't understand," he repeated, turning toward Aziraphale, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction. "It doesn't make sense, I _know_ it doesn't, but angel, I'm telling you… it wasn't a month. It _wasn't_."

He could feel Aziraphale's sadness and uncertainty, saw the hesitation on his face. His silence spoke volumes. Crowley knew that at this point, Aziraphale was doubting his perception, rather than truly trying to help him figure out _what the bloody hell was going on_. He pushed back his frustration, turning away again and burying his face in his hands.

He didn't want to push Aziraphale away. What he wanted was to make him _understand_.

Azirahpale was a being of light and love - but he was also a scholar, who placed great importance on _facts_. For all his powers of perception when it came to human emotion, he could occasionally be frustratingly focused on the logical. He didn't know what Crowley knew about the power of imagination - that every once in a while, the "facts" simply didn't matter. That the force of sheer imagination could _make_ a thing reality, if you wanted it badly enough. Or, if _someone_ wanted it badly enough.

Crowley had never wanted any of it.

"Well, I don't know how to explain it," Aziraphale said at last, gently, soothingly rubbing Crowley's back. "But we'll figure it out, love. We will." After a moment he added, his tone a little too bright, "I know what might make you feel better!"

_Distraction_, nothing but a distraction, whatever he was going to offer, and Crowley didn't _want _to be distracted, he wanted to know what they'd _done_ to him, how he'd somehow lost so much time.

"Would you like to go by your place today?" Aziraphale suggested. "Get a few of your things, since you'll be staying here for a while?"

Crowley glanced up at him again, grudgingly interested in spite of himself. He thought of his flat, empty for… well, he hadn't any bloody _idea_ how long now, did he? Thought of the plants, most of them probably long since dead, or well on their way to it, even if it _had_ been only a month.

_But it hasn't… so much longer..._

Aziraphale was smiling, hopeful and enticing, infuriatingly aware that he _had_ Crowley when he added, all innocence, "Pick up the _car_?"

Crowley let out a sharp, frustrated breath.

Okay, he was officially distracted.

"Yeah," he replied at last. "Yeah, all right, fine."

"Good, very good."

Satisfied, Aziraphale rose to his feet and bustled about, getting ready to leave. Crowley just sat there, feeling a little dazed, and very, very lost. After a few minutes, Aziraphale stopped in front of him, reaching out to take his hand.

"Ready to go?"

Crowley nodded, automatically allowing himself to be led down the stairs and toward the door. As they neared it, however, Aziraphale slowed, glancing at him with an anxious, oddly self-conscious frown before speaking, hesitant and apologetic.

"My dear, I'm sorry, but… don't you think you ought to conceal your wings, before we step out into the street?"

Crowley thought of the state of his wings - broken and shredded, dull and ashen where they'd once been beautiful glossy black - felt his face heat with humiliation and disgust. He could feel Aziraphale's pity, and it burned in his chest, made him feel sick and ashamed. His wings were destroyed... he was a broken, weepy wreck... and Crowley was fairly certain that _Aziraphale_ was fairly certain that he was losing his bloody mind.

And maybe he was.

There wasn't exactly another reasonable explanation for the discrepancy between the time that Crowley believed to have passed during his captivity, and the time that Aziraphale insisted had actually passed.

All at once Crowley felt incredibly exposed, incredibly vulnerable - and utterly furious with the entire situation.

And, just a little bit, with Aziraphale.

"Uh, _yeah_, I _do_ think I should, I'm not a bloody moron," he snapped. "Don't you think I would if I could? Blessed collar won't allow it!"

He'd tried. Oh, how he'd tried, again and again, but Gabriel had the collar set to prevent him from hiding his own wings - the better to torture them that way, of course. Gabriel had wanted to always have easy access.

Abruptly, Crowley's own seething anger and frustration was overwhelmed by a wave of such intense fury from Aziraphale that it nearly took his breath. Hot and thick and overwhelming, violent in a way that he'd _never_ felt from Aziraphale, not in 6000 years - it swept over Crowley and made his heart race, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Stupid, disrespectful little piece of shit, should have just kept your mouth shut, how _dare _you speak to him like that…_

Aziraphale's hand reached out to grasp Crowley's shoulder, and Crowley instinctively shied away, raising his hands in front of him, head lowered in submission.

"Sorry," he said quietly, closing his eyes as his voice broke over the word. "Sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"Shouldn't have what?" Aziraphale's voice was surprisingly soft, rueful, as he tried again, reaching out to take Crowley's hand this time. Crowley let him. "Snapped at me for behaving like a thoughtless ass? Of course you did, and I don't blame you."

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale sharply, surprised. "You - you don't?"

Aziraphale's hand was firm and warm against his - utterly unthreatening - but Crowley couldn't help watching him warily. He'd yelled at Aziraphale, talked to him as if he was an idiot, and that could not be tolerated, he _knew_ better, he shouldn't _ever _have...

"It's perfectly all right for you to be angry, Crowley - to be bloody _furious._ Even with me. Lord knows _I'm_ angry, and I'm not even the one who…" Aziraphale's voice trailed off, realization dawning in his eyes as he took in the expression on Crowley's face. "Oh, no, no, my dear, I'm not angry with _you_," he said, hushed and horrified at the thought. "I'm angry that this was _done_ to you, and that I can't seem to do much of anything to help you." Aziraphale edged nearer to Crowley, reaching out to take his other hand as well. "I'd _never_ hurt you, Crowley. No matter how frustrated or angry I get - or _you_ get," he amended with a soft, sad smile.

Confronted with Aziraphale's ever-present gentleness and warmth, Crowley suddenly felt small and foolish. How could he have actually thought that Aziraphale was so violently angry with _him_ \- angry enough to even hurt him? He allowed Aziraphale to move closer, further into his space, to slip his arms around him and lean up to kiss him, soft and chaste against his parted lips.

"I'm sorry," Crowley whispered, dejected, face hot with shame. "I'm… not really angry with _you_, either," he admitted. "'S just… frustrating, 's all. I'm sorry."

"You needn't be," Aziraphale assured him. He looked away, frowning a little, thoughtfully. "Perhaps I could miracle them out of sight of the public, just for while we're out," he mused. "Gabriel said himself that I wouldn't want humans seeing them. How could he object?"

"But then he'd ask you where you were taking me… why you needed to do it, and… and what would you tell him?"

Aziraphale grimaced. "True…"

Crowley hesitated. He felt terrible for snapping at Aziraphale when he was only trying to help… for making Aziraphale feel bad just for being protective of him. He could do this. He couldn't do much right now, but he could do this one thing.

"I-I could do it," he offered, hesitant. "With the collar set this low, I - I think I can."

Aziraphale's frown deepened, concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Crowley nodded, though he wasn't at all. "I - I want to try. I think I'm ready."

He wasn't.

By the time Aziraphale had managed to hail a cab, Crowley was feeling lightheaded and dizzy from the effort of diverting the attention of all the many passersby who would have otherwise noticed his wings. In the cab, he had to maintain the illusion for the driver. It was considerably less effort than out on the street, but still made his head ache and limbs feel heavy and numb. Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley in a silent show of support, and Crowley gratefully rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, breathing deeply, trying to keep steady.

By the time they'd reached the front door of his flat and Crowley could finally let go of the illusion, Aziraphale was supporting him almost completely as Crowley leaned into him, on the verge of collapse. Very concerned, Aziraphale led Crowley to the nearest seat - the chair behind his desk - and helped him to sit down.

"It's all right, dear, just rest," he said softly, kissing the top of Crowley's head. "I'll go pack a bag for you. Just let me know if there's anything in particular you want to be sure I don't miss."

Crowley nodded wearily, before leaning forward and folding his arms on the desk, resting his head in them. At the moment he couldn't have cared less which items Aziraphale picked out for him. He just needed to catch his breath, needed to wait and rest until the dizziness faded. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of Aziraphale in his bedroom, opening and closing drawers and cabinets.

After a few minutes, the dizziness and heaviness began to fade, and Crowley raised his head, blinking sleepily as he looked around the familiar room he hadn't seen in so long. He winced as he took in the sight of his plants, most of them withered and browned in places. And as poor a job as they were doing growing - not a single one was trembling, or seemed the slightest bit afraid.

_That's how pathetic you are, mate,_ his subconscious supplied helpfully. _Nothing even slightly intimidating about you, not anymore…_

Crowley looked back down at his desk with a heavy sigh.

_Weak, pathetic… and losing your bloody mind._

He glanced toward his bedroom, where Aziraphale was busily packing his bag - a small, simple task Crowley should have been able to manage easily.

_He'll tire of it before long - this helplessness, this… burden. He'll tire of it, but he'll keep giving, because he's Aziraphale. He'll keep being kind and warm and generous... keep taking care of you…_

_Until he _hates _you for it._

Crowley blinked away the tears that rose to his eyes at the sickening downward spiral of his thoughts.

_See? Weak. Worthless and pathetic. What use will he have for you? _

Crowley took a few deep breaths, tried to steady himself, swiped angrily at his tears. It didn't matter, he knew. Aziraphale knew him too well. Aziraphale would see that he'd been crying when he came out of his bedroom. He'd see, and he'd be so very gentle it _hurt_, so very patient that Crowley wouldn't be able to stand it.

All at once, Crowley remembered something - and he quickly reached down and opened the narrow drawer on the top right side of his desk, taking in its contents with a deep sigh of relief.

About half a dozen pairs of black Valentino sunglasses, in his favorite style.

He swallowed hard as he carefully took out a pair, looking them over for a moment, soaking in every one of the tiny details that he knew by heart, before sliding them on. Immediately the world took on a shaded perspective that was as familiar to him as breathing. He let out a soft, shuddering breath at the overwhelming sense of _relief_ he felt, the immediate sense of _rightness_ that came with the simple act of putting them on.

And for the first time in… well, he _literally_ had no idea how long… Crowley didn't exactly feel like himself again. But he remembered what it _used_ to feel like... to feel like himself.

At the very least, he could _imagine_ that he was himself again.

_You can do this, _he told himself, squaring his shoulders, drawing in a shaky breath. _You can do this, you've done it a thousand times. And if you _can't _do it… you can fake it. _

_You've done _that_ a thousand times, too._

It was a start.

And for the moment, it would have to do. Because it was all that he had to hold onto.


	9. Chapter 9

For the last fourteen years, Aziraphale and Crowley had spent far more time in Aziraphale's home than they had at Crowley's, for several reasons. For one, Aziraphale's place was simply more comfortable. But the largest and most important reason felt bitterly laughable now - Aziraphale had worried far more about Crowley's side catching them together than he had about his own.

"Demons are by nature cruel and violent," he'd reminded Crowley, delivering the rote information he'd been taught with the utmost concern.

"Oh, are we?"

Crowley's single raised brow, the slight tightening of his mouth, made it clear that Aziraphale was being offensive, although that had not been his attention. Flustered, embarrassed, he had hurried to retract, or at the very least amend, his judgment.

"Not _you_, Crowley, _them_," he insisted. "If Heaven catches us, it won't be pleasant, but I'd far rather I face their judgment than have you face Hell's."

Now, that line of reasoning felt ridiculous. He'd been so wrong.

_You're getting quite a few things ridiculously wrong just now, aren't you? _

Aziraphale blinked back angry tears as he packed the small black satchel he'd found at the back of Crowley's closet with several of his favorite shirts and trousers, closing the bureau drawers with a fair bit more force than was strictly necessary. He opened the drawer that held Crowley's sleepwear, and took out a couple of sets of luxurious silk pajamas - one black, one blood red - and then reached to the back of the drawer until he found what he was looking for. Something a bit more comfortable. A plain black t-shirt and soft gray pajama pants that were so well-worn as to be threadbare in places… and thus impossibly soft. He tucked them into the bag as well, and zipped it shut.

He stood at the door of Crowley's bedroom for a moment, drawing in a slow, steadying breath and wiping the tears from his eyes, before making his way back toward Crowley's office, where he'd left him.

Crowley was no longer sitting at his desk.

Aziraphale frowned, his heart lurching with fear for just a moment, before he heard a soft sound from outside Crowley's office. To his surprise, he found Crowley standing near the window, holding a plant mister in one hand, and a small pot containing a particularly browned and withering plant in the other. As Aziraphale watched, the leaves slowly, slowly uncurled and became green and vibrant again.

And then Crowley wobbled a bit on his feet, dropping the plant mister.

Aziraphale was at his side in an instant, one arm around Crowley, steadying him, his other hand taking the potted plant from Crowley before it could crash to the floor as well. Crowley caught himself on Ariraphale's arm, looking up at him, a little dizzy and disoriented.

Aziraphale's heart lurched when he saw the familiar sunglasses back in place on Crowley's face. A pang of something like loss went through him, at the thought of Crowley's eyes being hidden from him - especially just now when he seemed to be having such a difficult time reading him. But at the same time, Crowley was actually _smiling_, albeit a sleepy, distant sort of smile, and Aziraphale had to admit that the glasses made Crowley look a bit more like _himself_ again.

_It's about what _he _needs, not what I need, _Aziraphale reminded himself.

Although, he was fairly certain that passing out in the middle of his flat from exerting himself to save a dead houseplant was hardly what Crowley needed.

"Darling, what are you doing?" he asked with gentle exasperation.

"Just… testing my limits," Crowley explained, mildly defensive. "Haven't done any miracles in a long time…"

"So you're going to do a dozen of them today, is that it?" Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley leaned heavily into Aziraphale's arms around him, stumbling a little as he allowed Aziraphale to lead him across the room to his sofa - far less comfortable and more pristine than the one in Aziraphale's living room. He let out a low, self-effacing laugh.

"Apparently not," he observed.

"Remember, you've got to disguise your wings again on the way to the car…. And then again when we return to the shop," Aziraphale reminded him, gently reproving as he sat down beside him on the sofa.

"'S not that far." Crowley shrugged. "I can do it for a couple minutes."

Aziraphale didn't contradict him, though he had his doubts, the way Crowley seemed to be just about passing out on his feet. They sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, Crowley catching his breath, as Aziraphale just sat there beside him, soothingly rubbing his back.

"I'm sorry, angel," Crowley said after a few quiet moments, but this time his tone was not the frantic, desperate plea it had been before. Much calmer now, Crowley continued, "Shouldn't have got angry with you when you were just trying to help."

"It's quite all right, Crowley, I should say you've got good reason to be angry with anyone you wish at the moment!"

"All the same, I… _don't _wish. Not with you." Crowley was quiet for a moment, looking away. "Maybe I _did_ get it wrong. Pain like that, it - it can make time seem to move slower. Maybe… it was just a month. I was confused."

Crowley's easy acquiescence was unsettling to Aziraphale. He wished that he could still see Crowley's eyes, behind his glasses. He nodded slowly, cautious. "Perhaps. At any rate… I should be more careful. With my words, with…"

"I think you should be _less_ careful." Crowley's words brought Aziraphale up short. He waited in surprise as Crowley continued, "I'm going to be fine, angel. I promise. I just need some time, and - I think I need things to be how they were. Before. As - as normal as they can be? And… you're treating me like I'm… you know. Fragile."

But Crowley _was_ fragile. He had been _broken_.

Aziraphale bit his lip, an anxious frown on his face, before forcing the words out. "I'm sorry. If - if that's what you need…"

"It is."

Aziraphale wanted to argue. He was by no means convinced. But Crowley was smiling at him, a tired smile, but still a welcome sight that Aziraphale had missed for the past month. And even if every instinct he had, every shred of emotional perception he possessed, was telling him otherwise - Crowley was telling him what he wanted, and Aziraphale had to respect that.

"All right," he replied simply at last. "I shall do my best."

Crowley nodded, reaching out to take Aziraphale's hand. Initiating contact. A small step, but hopefully one in the right direction. "Ready to go, angel?" Crowley said softly, rising wearily to his feet. "We probably oughtn't stay here too much longer. In case they come checking up on you."

"Right," Aziraphale agreed, rising beside Crowley and picking up the satchel he'd set at his feet - and, after a moment's thought, the plant Crowley had miracled back to health. "If _you're_ ready.".

"Are you kidding?" Crowley reached into his pocket and took out the keys to the Bentley. He must have retrieved them before tending to his plants. "What do _you_ think?"

And now, his smile was truly genuine, excited, and a bit contagious. Despite his apprehension, Aziraphale couldn't help but return it.

They made their way to the Bentley as quickly as possible, reaching it and closing the doors behind them in just a couple of minutes. Even keeping up the illusion for so short a time, Crowley still was breathing heavily as he leaned forward for a moment to rest his head against the top of the steering wheel. Aziraphale tried not to fuss over him too much, just sat beside him and gently stroked his back.

After a few minutes Crowley raised his head, flashing Aziraphale a tired grin before putting the keys in the ignition. He checked various gauges and knobs and buttons which he typically didn't bother with when he was driving with miraculous assistance - all equally mysterious and meaningless to Aziraphale, who never had seen any reason to learn to drive himself - and then pulled out into the street.

At first, he drove far more slowly than Aziraphale was used to, and Aziraphale was a bit surprised at the wistful feeling it gave him. But gradually, Crowley built up speed, his smile widening, his shoulders relaxing, as he settled back into the familiar seat and familiar habit of driving.

"That's my girl, feels just the same. How I've missed her!" he laughed.

Aziraphale just couldn't take his eyes off Crowley, actually happy and enjoying himself. Before he knew it, the words had slipped past his lips, hushed and wanting.

"How I've missed _you_."

Crowley glanced over at him sharply, though Aziraphale sorely wished he could have actually seen the expression in his eyes. Then his mouth curled into a smile that was a little smug and a little shy at the same time, and he reached out to take Aziraphale's hand. Returning his gaze to the road, he raised Aziraphale's hand to his lips and kissed it gently before bringing it back down and holding it on the seat between them.

When they reached the bookshop, Crowley had to hide his wings one more time. When the doors closed behind them, he barely made it up the stairs - wouldn't have, without Aziraphale's supportive arm around him.

"Think I need a nap, angel," Crowley murmured, his voice low and a little slurred. "Right worn out."

"Can't imagine why," Aziraphale remarked dryly.

"Oh, shut it," Crowley retorted, but it was soft and affectionate.

Aziraphale helped him to the bedroom, where Crowley sat down on the side of the bed, and Aziraphale placed the satchel with his belongings on the mattress beside him. He opened it and laid out the soft set of pajamas he'd selected, but Crowley reached out and tugged Aziraphale closer to him until he was standing between Crowley's legs, Crowley's head resting against his stomach. A sense of soft, fond delight suffused Aziraphale's being as he put his arms around Crowley, one hand sliding through his hair, and Crowley let out a contented little hum.

"Well, much as I do like this," Aziraphale admitted, his voice hushed in the stillness of the room. "You can't very well sleep like this, dear. Here, let me help you get into something more comfortable."

"Mmm, I think… _you_ want to 'slip into something more comfortable'," Crowley teased, a soft, suggestive hiss to his words, deliberately shifting the tone of the phrase and making it sound positively filthy.

"_Crowley_." Aziraphale's gently reproachful tone might have been a bit more effective if his voice hadn't been shaking so.

"What?" Crowley was all innocence, reaching up to cover Aziraphale's hand in his hair with his own, stroking it lightly, then trailing his fingers down Ariraphale's arm, and such a simple, innocent touch simply had _no right at all_ to feel so slow and sensuous. Crowley's voice was low and enticing. "You said you missed me."

"I did." Aziraphale couldn't disguise the hunger in the hoarse confession, as he brought his hand down from Crowley's hair to touch his face, and Crowley turned into the touch, softly kissing Aziraphale's palm. "_So much_."

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, trying to slow his racing heart. Crowley needed to rest. He'd had a difficult, exhausting day. He'd practically fallen asleep on his feet on the way to this room. The last thing Aziraphale should have been thinking about was the one thing he couldn't push out of his mind.

He tilted Crowley's head up a little, bending down to kiss his lips… tender, slow, savoring the moment, the heady rush when Crowley eagerly returned his kiss, raising one hand to needily grasp at Aziraphale's hair and pull him down closer. Aziraphale's trembling hands slid over Crowley's shoulders and reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly in his urgent haste.

And all at once - everything changed.

Crowley's hands shot up to catch Aziraphale's wrists, holding them still against his chest. Aziraphale could feel Crowley's heartbeat under his hand - racing; his emotions rushing over Aziraphale like a wave, a tumultuous confusion of desperation and need and a dozen other emotions, with one more prominent than the rest - _panic_. All at once Aziraphale remembered Crowley's reaction the previous night when he'd suggested he take off his shirt.

Crowley was looking up at him through his sunglasses, his lips parted, breath tremulous and too fast, and Aziraphale once again _desperately_ wished that he could see Crowley's eyes.

"We don't have to," Aziraphale whispered, even as his heart sank with disappointment. "If you're - hurt, or…"

"I-I _want_ to," Crowley insisted, and Aziraphale could feel that, whatever else Crowley was feeling, it was the truth. "I'm not hurt. It's… just…" Crowley swallowed slowly, bit his lip, then whispered, hushed and hesitant, "... close your eyes?"

Aziraphale's heart ached with the overwhelming feeling of Crowley's shame. He had no idea what Crowley thought he had to be ashamed of, dearly wished that Crowley felt safe enough to show him. It hurt to think that Crowley felt he had to hide from him - but Aziraphale could not deny him anything that he needed.

"Yes," he agreed, "yes, of course, my dear," closing his eyes and waiting with bated breath for Crowley to make the next move.

Crowley was quiet and still for a long, tense moment - and then Aziraphale felt his hands, gently guiding Aziraphale's toward the buttons of his shirt again. Aziraphale's mouth was dry, his heart racing, as he carefully unbuttoned the first one, and Crowley's hands hesitated just a moment before letting go of his wrists completely and allowing him to slide his hands down to the next button, and the one after that.

The buttons conquered, Aziraphale slid his hands up under the shirt and pushed it carefully back over Crowley's shoulders, then raised a hand to the back of Crowley's neck, pulling him in to kiss him again. Crowley lifted a hand between them, pressing gently against Aziraphale's chest, and Aziraphale immediately backed off.

"Just a minute," Crowley whispered, breathless, rushed, "just a minute…"

Aziraphale waited, heard the sound of Crowley's belt unfastening and sliding free of his jeans, followed by soft rustling. Then, Crowley's hands were pulling him close, Crowley's mouth found his, and Aziraphale reached out to touch again - his hands brushing against the soft cotton of the pajamas he'd picked out for Crowley.

Crowley broke the kiss with a soft gasp, his breath cool and trembling against Aziraphale's lips as he whispered, "You can open your eyes now, angel…"

Aziraphale blinked a couple of times, his eyes adjusting, and softening as they settled on Crowley, now half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge of the bed in his pajamas - sunglasses still as frustratingly in place as ever. Aziraphale suppressed his feelings of desire and disappointment, moving in close between Crowley's parted legs and settling his hands, still and soft against Crowley's sides.

"There you are," he said, smiling with soft affection. "You'll be much more comfortable sleeping like this."

Crowley gave Aziraphale a little smirk, raised his arms to wrap around the back of Ariraphale's neck, tugging him down a little. "Thought I made it clear," he murmured, low and suggestive. "I don't _want_ to sleep."

Aziraphale allowed himself to be pulled down into a slow, lazy kiss. He couldn't imagine how Crowley could possibly have the energy for anything more at the moment.

Aziraphale had the energy for quite a bit more.

_He said don't treat him like he's fragile… don't be so careful…_

The thought felt like a temptation.

Aziraphale wanted to surrender. He wanted to put his hands on Crowley's body, nearly as familiar as his own, wanted to push him down on the bed and reacquaint himself with every angle, every secret place he'd long ago learned to make his demon quiver with need and fall apart in his arms.

He had his permission; Crowley was insisting that he wanted it.

But... he was clearly unwilling to undress in front of Aziraphale. And while that wasn't _strictly_ necessary, it wasn't the only hindrance. Aziraphale knew that if he pushed Crowley down, it would crush his damaged wings. Even as they slid under the hem of Aziraphale's waistcoat, Crowley's hands were shaking with exhaustion - he _hoped_ it was with exhaustion, and nothing worse - and despite his sultry invitation, he seemed barely able to keep his eyes open.

Wrestling with his own desire, Aziraphale made a decision, and snapped his fingers, instantly changing out of his clothes and into his own set of soft, comfortable pajamas.

"Then I'll just lie down here," Aziraphale replied at last, gently pushing Crowley down to lie on his side on the bed, careful of his wings. "And _not sleep,_ with you."

Crowley scooted back a little on the mattress to make room for Aziraphale to join him, and Aziraphale lay down facing him. Crowley immediately reached for Aziraphale, his hands sliding under the angel's shirt. Aziraphale gently caught his hands and pulled them back up, holding them between them for a moment.

"Slowly, darling," he whispered, leaning over their joined hands to kiss the corner of Crowley's mouth. "There's no rush."

He drew back a little… trying, and failing, to read Crowley's expression. Aziraphale bit his lip in hesitation, but then carefully reached to take Crowley's sunglasses from his face. Crowley tensed a little as Aziraphale's hand neared his face, but allowed him to take them and set them on the nightstand behind him.

"Just… let me see you," Aziraphale whispered, releasing Crowley's hands and reaching out to cup Crowley's cheek, his thumb gently tracing his jawline.

Crowley swallowed slowly, closing his eyes, but leaning into the touch, his breath catching in his throat as he shifted in closer to Aziraphale, sliding one trembling hand along the angel's waist. Aziraphale leaned in, following the path of his thumb with soft, slow kisses as he slid his hand around to rest lightly at the side of Crowley's throat. Crowley pulled him in closer, tilting his head back a little to allow Aziraphale better access, and Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's hair in soothing, repetitive strokes, kisses feather-light against Crowley's skin.

And slowly, as Aziraphale continued his gentle ministrations, Crowley's hand at his waist gradually ceased its trembling. His body relaxed, his eyes drifted closed… and stayed closed. His breathing slowed.

Aziraphale drew back slowly, careful not to disturb him... stole a moment to just look at him, taking him in - at peace like this, asleep.

He had known it would not take long.

Aziraphale rose carefully from the bed, trying not to shift the mattress too much, then went to the living room to get the blanket from the sofa and brought it back, laying it over Crowley's still form and tucking it comfortably around him. He glanced back one more time, just drinking in the sight of Crowley - home and safe and more _himself_ than he'd been since he'd found him - before turning out the light and closing the bedroom door.

Aziraphale returned to his living room, where he picked up the manual Gabriel had given him for the collar and settled in on his sofa. He wanted to take advantage of the time while Crowley was resting, to see what he could find out about how the blasted thing worked, and hopefully, how he could get it off.

The book wasn't really a _book_, per se, so much as a cover that read, _"Device #777034-D - Behavioral Modification Collar - Classification: Demon" - _with a single blank template page inside. Aziraphale had used such manuals before, for other Heavenly technology, so he knew what to do. Opening to the blank page, glowing white with a low, expectant hum in his hands, Aziraphale spoke his request aloud, closing his eyes.

"How do I remove the device?"

He opened his eyes and looked down at the page, his hopes sinking when the response was a single phrase, in bold type and all capitals.

_**YOU DON'T.**_

Aziraphale frowned, glaring at it.

"Who _can_ take it off?" he tried again.

After a moment, the response faded into place on the page.

_**Archangel approval required. **_

Aziraphale let out a frustrated breath, closing his eyes. He shook his head, thinking about it for a moment before trying something else.

"The demon's wings appear to be… locked onto the earthly plane. How do I… allow them to return to the spiritual plane?"

_**Archangel approval required. **_

Aziraphale wanted to scream. If the thing had had actual pages, he might have ripped it to shreds in his frustration. He took a couple of calming breaths, trying to focus his thoughts enough to think of what other questions he should ask, what other things about the collar he should know. After a moment, he tilted his head, thoughtful, as an idea occurred to him.

"Does the device in any way alter the demon's perception of reality, or… or time?"

_**Question unclear. Please rephrase and try again. **_

Aziraphale sighed, defeated, and set the manual aside for the moment, opting instead for another book he'd started a month earlier. It had stayed on his coffee table, ignored, from the moment Crowley had gone missing - and Aziraphale found it just as impossible to focus on reading it now. His thoughts kept drifting back to Crowley, and all of his unanswered questions, all of the things he didn't know about what he'd gone through.

_It was only a month, _Aziraphale told himself. _I know it was. Perhaps they gave him… some kind of drug, or performed some cruel miracle to make it seem longer… _

Evening fell, and the sky outside his window went dark, and Aziraphale didn't notice, too caught up in his troubled thoughts. He got up and went to the kitchen, made tea and put together a simple bite to eat - but found that for once, he had little appetite. With a heavy sigh, he returned to the living room and picked up the manual again, running his fingers along its edges as he contemplated what to ask. He glanced down, his gaze falling on the beautiful, vibrant little plant that had been nearly dead a few hours earlier.

"Does the device allow the demon to heal himself?"

Surely Crowley would need a little time, first, he was exhausted, but if Crowley could do the miracle instead of Aziraphale, then…

**All self-healing and/or shape-shifting abilities are inhibited by the device.**

Disappointed, Aziraphale sighed. Not surprising, really, he thought bitterly. What point was there in brutally torturing someone if they could simply miracle away the damage as they pleased?

"Can the device be temporarily turned off for any reason?"

_**Archangel approval required.**_

It seemed that the only one who could do anything about the collar was the last person who would be willing to do so - the very last person Aziraphale could ever even _think_ of asking.

_There has to be a way. There just has to, some… some human technology, maybe, or perhaps a spell…_

Aziraphale's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud _thump_ from the bedroom, followed by a pained, frightened cry. He was on his feet in an instant, hurrying to the bedroom.

"Crowley?" He blinked, his eyes adjusting until he could see that Crowley was sitting up in the bed, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. His wings were tucked protectively around his body, the dim glow of the hall light reflected in his wide, golden eyes. Aziraphale approached him cautiously, climbing onto the bed beside him. "Crowley, my love, are you all right?"

He sat against the headboard next to Crowley, mirroring his pose, and reached out to put his arm around him. Crowley flinched away from him with a shaky gasp.

"Please… no, please don't…"

"It's just me, love," Aziraphale assured him, trying again, and this time succeeding in getting his arm around Crowley, across his back beneath his wings. "You're all right, you're safe. It's just me…"

"Aziraphale," Crowley gasped out, his body quaking under Aziraphale's touch, still blinking into the darkness. "I-I can't see you…"

Aziraphale frowned. Crowley's serpentine nature had always provided him with excellent night vision. "You can't?"

"It's too dark," Crowley whimpered, his body curling into Aziraphale's embrace, turning into his side and pressing his face against the angel's shoulder. "It's too dark, I can't see, please, angel…"

Aziraphale didn't hesitate, snapping the fingers of his free hand. "Let there be light!"

A soft glow surrounded them both, but Crowley's face was still buried against Aziraphale, his fists clenched in the fabric of Aziraphale's nightshirt.

"Look," Aziraphale instructed softly, soothing Crowley with gentle fingers in his hair. "Look, Crowley, it isn't dark anymore, you're all right, you're safe, _look_, darling…"

Crowley finally raised his head, blinking up at Aziraphale as his vision came into focus. His eyes were swimming with tears, the lost, terrified look in them stealing Aziraphale's breath and breaking his heart.

"I… was dreaming, and I woke up, and I-I couldn't see, and… and I thought…" Crowley swallowed hard, shaking his head, lowering his gaze.

"You thought what?" Aziraphale prompted him. "What is it, love, tell me…"

Crowley just continued to shake his head in refusal, hiding his face against Aziraphale again.

"Why couldn't you see in the dark, Crowley? What happened to your eyes?" Aziraphale persisted.

"I can't," Crowley whispered, clutching Aziraphale close to him, shaking his head against him. "Please, I can't, angel, just… please don't… m-make me…"

"No, no, that's all right, dear, you needn't talk about it if you don't want to," Aziraphale hushed him gently, kissing his temple, stroking his hair. "It's all right, I'm here, I've got you…"

"I'm sorry," Crowley choked out, and the desolate, defeated sound of it tore at Aziraphale's heart. "I tried," he sobbed. "I really tried…"

Aziraphale was confused for a moment - but then he thought about the events of the day. Crowley's insistence on performing miracles he didn't quite have the strength for… his sunglasses, his driving, his relentless, determined _happiness_ that evening as he'd flirted and teased and _seemed so much more himself,_ hadn't he? _All at once_.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale drew back a little, taking Crowley's face in his hands and tilting it up toward his own. "You _don't have to_."

Crowley shook his head, eyes closed, his hands raised to catch Aziraphale's wrists, in just the slightest instinctive resistance to his touch. His breath was sharp and shallow, too fast, tears streaking his face.

"You _don't have to_ be all right, not yet, not after everything you've been through…" Aziraphale insisted. "You don't have to do anything at all you're not ready for. It's okay…"

"I'm not," Crowley sobbed out at last, a broken confession. "I'm not, I'm not…"

_Not ready… not all right..._

"Of course you're not," Aziraphale whispered, fiercely reassuring, protective, wrapping both arms around Crowley and holding him tight, allowing Crowley to hide his face against him once more. "And that's _fine_, Crowley, really it is… I'm _here_, I've _got _you…"

He held Crowley a while longer while the demon wept in his arms, clinging to Aziraphale as if he were drowning, and the angel was his only lifeline. Gradually, his tears subsided, his breathing slowed, and Crowley's death grip on Aziraphale eased, perhaps from sheer exhaustion. Through it all, Aziraphale just held him close, soothing him with slow, rhythmic touches up and down his back, through his hair, soft kisses to his temple, his face, whispered words of reassurance.

"Do you think you can sleep now, love?" Aziraphale ventured to ask at long last, once Crowley rested still and quiet in his arms.

Crowley didn't answer for a few moments, but Aziraphale could feel his fingers tighten in his shirt, heard the slow convulsive swallow in his throat - knew he was still awake. When Crowley finally replied, his voice was a hoarse, aching whisper.

"Will you… will you stay?"

"Of course," Aziraphale replied without hesitation.

He let go of Crowley with one hand, raising it in preparation to snap his fingers and turn out the miraculous light he'd used to surround them. Abruptly, Crowley reached up and caught his sleeve, pulling his arm back down. Aziraphale looked at him, puzzled, heart twisting painfully in his chest at the pleading, lost look in Crowley's eyes.

"Can you leave it?" Crowley whispered, desperate. "Please? Just… leave it be?"

Aziraphale studied him for a long moment, deeply troubled.

"Of course, my dear," he promised. "Whatever you need."

A cold, dreadful feeling settled in Aziraphale's chest as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. What had happened to Crowley's night vision? Some cruel torture that had permanently injured him, stolen it away?

But even in the absence of his night vision, for Crowley to be so utterly terrified of the darkness…

Since when had _any_ demon, _ever_, been _afraid of the dark_?

"I believe you," Aziraphale whispered. He wasn't even sure of it until the words left his lips… but once they did, he was filled with the surety of conviction. "I - I don't understand it, don't know… how it's possible, but… _I believe you,_ Crowley. I know. It was longer."

It _had_ to have been, to have so utterly broken his dear demon, ripped every last shred of confidence and security out of him and left him so shattered, so filled with fear and shame that there was barely even room enough left for the memory of Aziraphale's love for him, the memory of the _home_ they shared.

It _had_ to have been longer.

Crowley let out a choked, near silent sob, clutching Aziraphale closer to him, and Aziraphale could _feel_ the grateful relief that flooded Crowley with his words, the validation and reassurance that came of simply being _believed_.

"Rest now, love," Aziraphale urged him gently. "We'll figure it out." He had no idea how to even begin to keep that promise - only knew that he _would _keep it, somehow. "We'll figure it out."


	10. Chapter 10

_Gabriel didn't return to Crowley's cell for days._

_Crowley was fairly certain it was days. It felt like an eternity. His entire face felt as if it had been set aflame, the searing holy water ravaging his flesh, burning away at his tongue. It trickled down his throat, setting his whole body on fire with agony until he couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything but the pain. He was only vaguely aware of Gabriel's heavy footsteps when the archangel entered the room._

"_Oh, Crowley…" Gabriel made a sympathetic little sound, sucking his breath in through his teeth. "That looks like it really hurts." _

_He moved in so close in front of Crowley that he could feel the fabric of the angel's ridiculously expensive suit as it brushed against his bare skin. A moment later, Gabriel's hand came to rest at the back of his head, fingers sliding up through his hair. Crowley jerked his head away from the unwelcome touch, and Gabriel retaliated by grabbing the knot where the gag was tied behind his head and using it to wrench Crowley's head back, his words a low, angry snarl. _

"_Or maybe not. Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe you'd like to keep it a while longer, is that it?" _

_Crowley's stomach dropped, seized with panic at the idea. Too far gone with pain to even attempt to hide it, he shook his head desperately, as much as he could against Gabriel's strong grip._

"_Then maybe you should stop _fucking fighting me_!" _

_Gabriel twisted the cloth a little in his hand, forcing it further into Crowley's mouth and aggravating the burns. A convulsive swallow drove more of the holy water down Crowley's throat, and he shuddered with the fresh wave of pain that went through him. He nodded as best he could. He had to be rid of the gag. Whatever came next, he could worry about then, but he _had_ to be rid of it. _

"_Yeah?" Gabriel's tone softened, taking on a note of cautious surprise, and Crowley nodded again. _

_Gabriel let go of the knot, his fingers gently running through Crowley's hair again, and Crowley resisted the urge to pull away, stayed perfectly still, even as Gabriel shifted in a little closer to him, his free hand sliding along the bare skin above Crowley's hip. _

"_Good," Gabriel said, quietly approving. "Much better. Now, if I take it out... are you just gonna keep cursing me? Or are you ready to behave yourself now?" _

_Crowley nodded hurriedly, and Gabriel smiled. "Good," he said softly, still stroking Crowley's hair. "Good boy. And you're going to answer my questions? Tell me what I need to know?" _

_Crowley nodded again, his head falling forward with exhaustion. _

_He had no intention of telling Gabriel anything. _

_He'd have rather let Gabriel torture him for an eternity than to allow him to get his hands on Aziraphale and torture and kill _him_, instead. He was just stalling, desperately trying to get Gabriel to take the gag out - even if it was just for a little while. _

Just need a break… can keep going, keep fighting, if I can just get a break…

"_Good," Gabriel repeated, pleased, triumphant. _

_His hands were uncharacteristically careful as he untied the cloth behind Crowley's head and gingerly removed the gag from Crowley's mouth, his face contorted with disgust at the bloody, blackened color of it as he let go of it, and it vanished out of existence before it could hit the floor. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the chains at Crowley's wrists fell open, allowing him to collapse to the floor - the sharp impact of the fall a more than fair exchange for the relief in his painfully stretched limbs. _

_Gabriel crouched down in front of him, and Crowley let out a choked little yelp of pained surprise as Gabriel's hand grabbed his jaw, tilting his badly burned face up towards him. _

"_Now." Gabriel's voice was low, expectantly warning. "Something you'd like to tell me?" _

_Crowley drew in a slow, shuddering breath, wincing as he swallowed to try to soothe his badly damaged mouth. Acutely aware of Gabriel's swiftly rising impatience, he struggled to speak, but couldn't make his mangled lips and tongue form any actual words. Gabriel was surprisingly sympathetic, a little grimace twisting his mouth. _

"_Yeah, that's not gonna work, is it? Here, let me help you with that…" _

_Gabriel let go of Crowley's face and instead passed his hand just over it, hovering without touching. A soothing heat passed Crowley's lips and moved down his throat, and in its wake the pain completely vanished, his burns completely healed. _

"_There now, that's better." Gabriel's tone was encouraging, almost friendly. "Go ahead, Crowley. Tell me about you and Aziraphale. Just tell the truth." He shook his head, a falsely sad little smile on his lips. "And this can all be over." _

_Crowley swallowed slowly, closing his eyes and relishing the utter absence of pain - the few moments he was going to get without it. His heart was racing, his stomach sick at the thought that in just a few moments, Gabriel was going to start in on him again. If it wasn't another holy water gag, it would be something else - something worse. _

_No matter what, he couldn't give up Aziraphale. _

_Perhaps his best option was to push the archangel into losing his temper completely and utterly destroying him._

_It had to be preferable to this. _

_Crowley lowered his head, wrapping one arm around his chest, settling more comfortably onto his knees - taking his time, before replying in a whisper, barely audible. _

_Gabriel moved in closer, his voice hushed and gentle. "What was that?" _

_Crowley took a couple of deep, steadying breaths - and then looked up at Gabriel with a cold, defiant smile. "I said _fuck you_. You absolute _wanker_." _

_Gabriel's eyes went wide, his lips parted in shock, but before he could properly respond, Crowley leaned forward and spit venom in his face. Gabriel let out a howl of rage and pain, staggering to his feet and turning away - just as the collar around Crowley's neck fired with violent force, and he collapsed, consumed with pain. He barely even felt the kick that Gabriel aimed at his face, through the fiery flare that passed from his head through his entire body. But as it passed, he grinned up at Gabriel, tongue darting out to lick the blood from his teeth. _

"Worth it_," he hissed at the angel in defiant satisfaction. _

_Enraged, Gabriel drew back his fist and hit Crowley hard across the face, then grabbed his hair and yanked him up higher on his knees, holding his head back and leaning in so close that Crowley could feel his breath on his face, even as he closed his eyes and braced himself for the punishment that Gabriel's grim smile promised. _

"_Was it?" Gabriel challenged, his voice trembling with fury, and Crowley's stomach lurched when he felt Gabriel's hand on the collar, the pain swiftly increasing as he turned the dial higher and higher. "Was it really? Don't be so sure of that, demon. When I'm through with you, you won't even dare to _look_ at me, let alone…" _

_Gabriel's words trailed off in outraged disbelief as through the overwhelming pain, Crowley very deliberately turned his face back toward Gabriel and glared up at him with fully golden serpent's eyes. The collar was delivering a steady flow of overwhelming pain at a level that Crowley had not yet experienced, but he fought through it, defiantly maintaining eye contact, even while struggling to get his words out past trembling lips and lungs that could barely draw breath. _

"_F-f…" He couldn't quite manage it, the pain too intense and overpowering. _

_Gabriel got the message, anyway._

_For a moment, Crowley thought he'd succeeded. Gabriel's violet eyes took on a brilliant glow, a vindictive curl to his lips, one trembling hand raised in Crowley's direction - and Crowley prepared to be smote. At least the pain would be over. At least Gabriel would never get the evidence he needed to condemn Crowley's angel. _

_At least Aziraphale would be _safe_. _

_But Gabriel didn't smite him. Visibly wrestling with his own rage, Gabriel closed his hand with an effort into a controlled fist, lowering it slowly. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - and when he opened them, they were their usual color again. Crowley couldn't quite suppress a flinch as Gabriel reached toward the collar again - but only to turn it back down to the usual middle setting where he most often left it. _

_Crowley frowned, catching his breath and watching in confusion as Gabriel smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and took out a white handkerchief, which he used to wipe the remnants of Crowley's venom from his face - and then turned and left the cell without another word. _

_Crowley supposed a couple of hours had passed when the door to his cell opened again, and two angels entered. Without a word of explanation, despite his protests, they took him by the arms and led him down a dismal gray hallway to another room, one he hadn't seen before. Where his cell was grimy, gray stone, this room was mostly tile and stainless steel, sterile and cold. _

_In one corner of the room was a small table laden with various vaguely medical-looking items, and beside it a narrow metal examination table, fit with a thin mattress, and all manner of restraints along its edges. _

_Gabriel stood patiently waiting at the head of the table, a satisfied smile on his lips._

Oh, _Heaven_, no…

_Crowley did not know what exactly was intended for him here, but he knew that it had to be a step beyond what he'd already experienced, and he fought, frantically struggling to free himself from the iron grip of the angels on either side of him. His struggles ceased when he managed to kick one of them in the shin, and the collar's punishment stole his breath and made his legs collapse out from under him. By the time he'd recovered, his vision fading back into focus, he'd been strapped down to the table at his wrists and ankles, and one of the angels was fastening another strap tightly across his forehead so that he couldn't move his head at all, while the other examined the items on the small metal table beside him. _

"_Let me go!" Crowley yelled, uselessly straining against his bonds. "Let me up, stop…" _

_His words trailed off, everything in him freezing up in horror as out of the corner of his eye, he saw the second angel turn away from the supply table with an eyedropper filled with clear liquid in his hand. Crowley tried to protest, but couldn't draw breath, let alone speak, as the angel carefully passed the eye dropper to Gabriel._

_Gabriel smiled down at Crowley, serene and satisfied, informing him matter-of-factly, "It's not diluted this time. Pure. One hundred percent." _

_Panicked, Crowley tried to turn his head away, closed his eyes tight. He heard Gabriel snap his fingers - and all at once, Crowley's eyes were open again, and he _couldn't_ close them, no matter how hard he tried. _

"_Please!" he choked out as Gabriel held the eyedropper over his face, a tiny droplet beginning to form at its tip. His face flushed with shame, but the desperation of sheer, unadulterated terror drove his words. "Don't, _please_!" _

_Gabriel's free hand reached down to cup Crowley's cheek, his expression filled with false regret. "I told you," he reminded Crowley patiently. "When I'm done… you won't even _look_ at me." _

"_No… NO!" Crowley gasped out, panicked._

_And then, the first drop fell into his wide-open, vulnerable eye. There was a flash of all-consuming, searing agony unlike anything he'd ever felt before, and he heard himself screaming, felt his body convulse with the pain - until the second drop fell in his other eye. And all was darkness, and pain beyond Crowley's comprehension, until the mercy of unconsciousness pulled him under, and he was aware of nothing at all. _

Crowley awakened, alone, in Aziraphale's bedroom, to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the window. He was warm and comfortable, and all was still and quiet - but as he sat up in the bed and blinked into the light, he gradually became aware of the quiet sounds of Aziraphale moving about the kitchen, just beyond the bedroom door.

Crowley slid to the edge of the bed and sat up, immediately reaching for his sunglasses where Aziraphale had left them on the nightstand. And then, as he put them on, memories of the night before flooded his mind - Aziraphale's gentle hands sliding over his skin, Aziraphale's mouth against his throat. Embarrassment swept over him as he realized that he didn't remember anything else after that; he must have fallen asleep before they'd gotten very far.

Humiliation swiftly took the place of embarrassment, when Crowley _did _remember _waking up_, in the pitch dark room, alone - in tears, terrified, clinging like a child to the angel he'd left frustrated and wanting only hours earlier.

_What is wrong with you, you pathetic waste?_ His inner voice viciously demanded. _You're a demon, you can't be afraid of the bloody dark! _

Crowley closed his eyes, drawing in a few breaths, trying to ease the heat in his face, trying to calm himself. Crowley focused on little reassuring details - the inviting scent of fresh coffee... the sounds of Aziraphale comfortably bustling about, no doubt preparing an elaborate breakfast… the pleasant warmth of the sun on his face.

After a moment, Crowley got up and went to the door, making sure it was shut before returning to the bedside to take a fresh shirt and trousers from his satchel. He exchanged his pajama pants for the clean trousers, then stripped off his soft black t-shirt and picked up a deep green button down shirt to replace it.

He took a moment in front of the mirror to examine his few remaining injuries. Most of the injuries on his wings were healing well, almost gone, in fact. The rings they had wedged into the joints still ached, and would continue to, until they could be removed - but besides that, Crowley's wings were starting to look a little healthier. Uneasily, he shifted his gaze to the scattered small cuts and burns on his stomach, sides, back. Much like his wings, they were looking much better, nothing in need of treatment.

Crowley's mouth went a little dry, his heartbeat picking up a bit as he tried - and failed - to ignore the numerous scars that covered his torso. Dozens of them, white and raised in various shapes and sizes and patterns - they should have been impossible. There was only one thing that could leave actual _scars_ on a demon.

Pity that one thing was something to which Gabriel had ready access, and had taken great pleasure in using.

Hesitantly, Crowley turned in front of the mirror, looking over his shoulder at the one scar that stood out among the dozens that marred his flesh - a small, intricate Enochian symbol at the base of his spine. Shame flooded over him, and his eyes burned with tears.

_Now you'll _never_ forget… what it means…_ _what you are..._

Crowley shivered, fighting back the sick feeling that swept over him, hurriedly putting on his shirt and fastening the buttons with trembling fingers. He took a few more minutes to finish getting dressed - a process he could have completed with a snap of his fingers, a minor miracle… if he didn't mind starting off his day feeling exhausted.

Once he was ready, Crowley hesitated a moment at the bedroom door - drew in a deep breath, and slipped out into the kitchen.

Aziraphale didn't notice him, his back turned to Crowley, busily stirring something on the stove. Whatever it was smelled delicious; Aziraphale was really very good at cooking. Food was something he enjoyed, and he'd found he had an instinct for it. It was something he appreciated, and so for the past fourteen years, it'd been something he'd tried his best to share with Crowley. Generally speaking, Crowley didn't appreciate food all that much.

But he _did_ appreciate _Aziraphale_.

Aziraphale wanted to heal Crowley, wanted to help him; and with his options limited at the moment, this was something he could do - so he would do it, faithfully and with all the love in his heart. Watching him, Crowley was abruptly overwhelmed with such a tremendous rush of affection and gratitude that he could scarcely contain it.

He moved in close behind Aziraphale, hesitating just a moment before slipping his arms around his angel's waist, tucking his face in against Aziraphale's neck. Aziraphale went still for a moment, then reached up a hand to touch Crowley's face, turned to kiss his brow.

Crowley's heart _ached_ with how much Aziraphale loved him - and how little he deserved it.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out against Aziraphale's skin.

"_No_." Aziraphale's tone was firm and sharp, as he emphatically turned off the stove and turned in Crowley's arms to face him. "Darling, look at me."

Crowley obediently lifted his head, his sunglasses at least making eye contact, even if his eyes were averted behind them. But then, Aziraphale's hands were carefully removing them from his face, and Crowley's heart lurched painfully.

"I _am_ looking," he protested weakly, "I am," his gaze following his glasses uneasily as Aziraphale set them aside on the counter beside the stove, then reached up to take Crowley's face in his hands.

He was waiting, and Crowley knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he complied, so he reluctantly lifted his gaze to meet Aziraphale's - breathtakingly earnest, fiercely protective.

"_Stop_ being sorry for something over which you had _no control_," Aziraphale commanded, stern yet tender. "You did nothing wrong, Crowley. _Nothing_ to deserve this. You have _no reason_ to be sorry."

Crowley thought of the incriminating mark on his back, and looked away, swallowing hard.

"They tortured you for… well, for God knows how long, really, and you didn't let them break you."

Crowley grimaced, shaking his head, lips parted to protest.

"You didn't give them what they wanted," Aziraphale clarified. "Didn't surrender. I'm in awe of your strength, Crowley, of your _courage_. Of all the things you may be feeling about what's happened… my darling, _shame_ should _never_ be one of them."

Aziraphale's hands still gently framing Crowley's face, he rose up a bit to kiss Crowley, sweet and warm, and despite his misgivings, despite his certainty that he did not deserve it - Crowley could not refuse it. He slipped his arms around Aziraphale, drinking in the kiss he'd thirsted for, for so long. When they parted, Aziraphale looked up into Crowley's eyes, and Crowley reluctantly met his gaze.

"_I love you_."

Aziraphale's words were fierce in their certainty, a promise Crowley knew he would keep - and Crowley wanted to return that promise. There was no question that he returned the sentiment with a desperate intensity. He'd never loved anyone like he loved Aziraphale - and in the past fourteen years, he'd never had any trouble speaking it aloud. The trouble wasn't that he couldn't return _those words_…

It was that he couldn't speak _at all_, his throat aching, his eyes burning with tears. Helplessly he lowered his head again, pulling free of Aziraphale's hands and hiding his face against Aziraphale's shoulder. After a moment, Aziraphale's arms wrapped around Crowley, drawing him in close, one at his waist, and the other resting at the back of his neck, his thumb rubbing gently through his hair.

"Crowley, my love…" Aziraphale's voice was hushed, cautious, close against Crowley's ear. "If you - if you wish to talk about… _anything_ that happened, while you were there…"

"_Don't_," Crowley choked out, shaking his head, his words thick and desperate. "Please don't…"

Aziraphale went quiet, pressing a tender kiss to Crowley's temple and just holding him close, while their breakfast went cold.


	11. Chapter 11

As days passed in relative peace, Aziraphale and Crowley fell into a bit of a routine, but Aziraphale's mind was never far from the impending threat he knew hung over them. Sending Crowley home with him had certainly been a trap for Aziraphale… which meant that very soon, Gabriel would be coming by to check up on them, hoping to catch them out.

Aziraphale was only surprised that nearly a week had passed… and still he hadn't. Yet.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, Crowley emerged in sunglasses and disheveled pajamas from Aziraphale's bedroom after a nap, to find Aziraphale practically nested on the sofa with a cup of lukewarm cocoa on the coffee table and numerous books piled on and around both sofa and table.

"What's all this?" Crowley asked, his voice a little husky with sleep as he settled down on the floor in front of the sofa, half-sitting, half-kneeling, leaning into Aziraphale's legs.

"I can move these, just a moment…" Aziraphale reached for the pile of books on the sofa beside him.

But Crowley wrapped one arm around his calf, stroking lightly, smiling up at him easily. "I'm good, really. Just… what are you working on?"

Aziraphale frowned a little. He remembered that first day when Crowley had come home, and hadn't dared to touch the sofa. Something about the idea of Crowley sitting at his feet like this was upsetting in a way that reignited the smoldering _fury _in the pit of his stomach - because it _wouldn't _have been upsetting, before. It would have been easy and natural and just something Crowley _did_ \- wrapping himself around his angel in the oddest of ways that were for him simply comfortable.

"I'm _fine_, angel," Crowley insisted, and Aziraphale could practically feel him rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "'S nice here." He pushed his foot across the floor, nudging at the vent. "Warm," he pointed out, then kissed Aziraphale's knee and nestled in a little closer, giving him a cheeky grin. "Soft."

Filled with a rush of warm affection, Aziraphale reached down one hand to run his fingers through Crowley's hair, and Crowley closed his eyes, resting his head against Aziraphale's knee with a happy little hum. After a moment he seemed to remember his own curiosity, repeating without lifting his head.

"What are you working on?"

"Well, I've been thinking," Aziraphale explained, already regretting bringing up something that would spoil Crowley's mood - continuing to stroke his hair slowly, preemptively soothing. "We should be ready. When Gabriel does eventually come by. We should have… some sort of a warning."

Crowley's shoulders tensed just a little at the mention of the archangel's name, and he was quiet for a moment. But when he spoke, his tone was calm, thoughtful. "That would be a little suspicious, wouldn't it?"

"If he knew about it," Aziraphale pointed out. "If I used a miracle to do it."

Crowley lifted his head, just far enough to turn and peer up at Aziraphale, not far enough to shift Aziraphale's gentle fingers from his hair. "What would you use?"

Aziraphale felt his face color a bit, and grimaced as he admitted, "_Human _magic? Of the… natural sort?"

Crowley let out a soft, exaggerated gasp. "Angels casting spells. What is this world coming to?" His smile faded a little as he speculated, "Is it risky? Your lot disapprove, yeah?"

"If they knew of it, they would," Aziraphale agreed. "But they can't sense it like they can angelic miracles. Gabriel would have no way of knowing such a spell was in place, it'd just… give us a bit of warning that he was on his way, so that we could be prepared."

Crowley shifted his body up a little higher, a little closer, resting against the sofa behind him, turning so that the back of his neck lay against Aziraphale's thigh. At the angle he was leaning, Aziraphale could clearly see most of his face, including his troubled eyes behind his glasses. A small part of him felt that he should let Crowley know that, or at least look away - but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so.

Crowley swallowed slowly, his voice still admirably calm when he spoke again. "How much warning would it give us?"

"A minute." Aziraphale set down his book in his lap and placed his hand on Crowley's shoulder instead, hopefully reassuring. "Possibly less."

After a moment, Crowley spoke again, gesturing vaguely toward his face. "I should have a bit more bruising, probably."

Aziraphale frowned, puzzled. "Your bruises are healing up quite nicely," he observed. "Quicker than I'd have thought, yes, but I suppose the collar just isn't inhibiting your healing as much as we'd expected…"

"No." Crowley sat up, turning so that he could face Aziraphale rather than leaning against him, bringing his thoroughly mussed hair regrettably out of Aziraphale's reach. "I mean, I ought to have bruises. If Gabriel comes by."

Aziraphale blinked. He supposed his mind's slow processing of Crowley's meaning was mostly due to his utter _hatred_ for the very suggestion.

"You're expected to be punishing me," Crowley reminded Aziraphale with a sigh. "Well, not expected, exactly," he amended. "I don't suppose he actually _expects_ that at all. He's fairly certain you _won't_ \- which is part of his plan. How he intends to catch you." Crowley paused a moment. "And why you _have_ to."

"No." Aziraphale was adamant, looking back down at his book. "I won't hurt you, Crowley."

"Who's talking about hurting?" Crowley's tone held a painfully deliberate lightness. He shook his head a little, dismissive. "I'm talking about just a couple bruises - a mark or two, enough to be convincing if he walks in…"

"I _won't_."

"Come on, angel, how hard is it to imagine I…" Crowley gestured with his hand, as if searching in the air for the words he wanted, "... did something to get under your skin, or… smarted off in a way that makes you just want to…" He made a loud, sharp smacking motion with the back of one hand against the other.

"_Stop_." Aziraphale's voice was trembling. In spite of his own distress, he felt a pang of guilt when Crowley flinched a little at his tone, his forced playful demeanor falling away. "Just… don't, Crowley. I won't. I _can't_."

"Even to keep _him _from doing it?" Crowley's words broke a little, all humor gone from them, and Aziraphale knew that Crowley was looking at him, even behind the glasses. "Because that's what'll happen, if he catches us. If you're not up for - all this requires. He'll take you away, and he'll punish you. And he'll take me…" Crowley's voice trailed off for a moment before he concluded flatly, "He'll take me. Is that what you want?"

"Of course it isn't, Crowley, but I didn't bring you home so that you could continue to be hurt, I just…"

"A couple of bruises isn't 'hurt', angel. Trust me."

Crowley's sobering words pressed them both into silence for a long moment, as Aziraphale, very reluctantly, considered Crowley's point.

"I'm not going to bruise you deliberately in the hopes that Gabriel may or may not show up to see it," he concluded finally, ignoring Crowley's heavy sigh and ready protest as he continued quickly, "I believe Gabriel would be far more likely to believe I'd use the collar, anyway, than to think I'd… 'get my hands dirty', so to speak."

Crowley winced a little at the phrase, and Aziraphale felt the need to clarify his meaning, but Crowley was already responding.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's probably better. You ought to be leaving it a bit higher, just in case…"

"I won't _leave_ it higher," Aziraphale stated, leaving no room for argument. "This warding spell I've found should take… half an hour... to perform, and then we'll have a minute's warning. I can turn it up when and if we have to, and that's all."

Crowley was quiet for a moment, then nodded his somewhat grudging acceptance.

"What do you think would be convincing, perhaps the 03 level?"

"At least 05," Crowley countered grimly. "That's where it was when you took me. Can't give him reason to think you're going easy on me."

Aziraphale's heart ached at the memory of Crowley, trembling and terrified and _hurting_ on the pristine floor in Heaven, and at the easy, matter-of-fact way Crowley discussed his own bloody _torture_ \- torture he now wanted _Aziraphale_ to inflict _again_. Aziraphale ran his hands down over his face, pressing them over his eyes for a moment and letting out a shaky breath.

"Can I simply state for the record," he said slowly, shakily, "how very much I _hate_ this plan?"

Crowley rose from his place at Aziraphale's feet, and Aziraphale was vaguely aware as the large stack of books beside him was shifted to the floor, and then his demon was pressed into his side, one arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders, as if _Aziraphale_ was the one who was about to get hurt… the one willingly accepting _abuse_ from the one he loved.

"I know," Crowley said softly, taking Aziraphale's hand nearest him and kissing it before pressing it to his own cheek, resting his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. "It's why I trust you to doit."

Aziraphale slid his hand up from Crowley's cheek into his hair, closing his eyes and letting out a heavy sigh as he turned his face toward him a little. "If Gabriel is coming," he relented at last. "Only then. I'll turn the collar up to 05."

"You'll have to be quick…"

"I have the remote control for the bloody thing," Aziraphale reminded him, disgust in his voice. "That should be quick enough."

Crowley was quiet, and a part of Aziraphale really wished he could see his face - though he supposed Crowley wouldn't have been nearly so calm about all of this, or as open, if he could.

"Where is it?" Crowley asked at last.

"In a drawer in the bedroom…"

"Needs to be on you."

Aziraphale drew back to look at Crowley then, a protest on his lips.

"At all times." Crowley was firm. "Can't take a chance that you can't get to it, or me, in time, if you find out he's coming."

Aziraphale didn't have an argument, though he _despised_ the idea of carrying that thing around, a constant threat against Crowley, a constant reminder of the disparity of power between them at the moment - however much Aziraphale _did not want_ said power.

"I'm going to find a way to get it off," he promised.

Crowley nodded, but remained quiet, looking away.

"I will," he insisted quietly. "I'll find a way to make sure you're _safe_. For good."

"I know, angel," Crowley said softly, but Aziraphale didn't miss the uncertainty in his forced smile.

Aziraphale performed the spell he'd found, designed to alert them to the presence of any supernatural entity within a block of the bookshop - besides themselves, of course, as they'd both been present in the building when the spell was performed. Armed with at least a marginal sense of security from that point, Aziraphale continued researching, looking for some means of removing or disabling the collar - sometimes on the sofa with Crowley curled up close to his side; sometimes at his desk, while Crowley napped in the middle of the day.

And at night, Aziraphale would hold Crowley until he slept, and then bring his books to the bed, staying close and leaving the light on, to guard against Crowley's nightmares.

Occasionally, he would reach for the manual, as a new question would occur to him.

"What would happen if the collar was… let's say, _accidentally_ damaged and just… fell off?"

He was beginning to consider physically _breaking_ the thing off of Crowley and making a run for it, before Gabriel could make his move.

_**Such an "accident" would immediately alert home office, and the demon would be immediately retrieved. **_

_Not if we're quick enough… not if we're gone before they even know it's off…_

_But… if I try, and fail, to remove it…_

"What level of punishment is inflicted for an attempt to remove the collar?" he asked it, frowning.

_**Level 08 punishment.**_

Aziraphale frowned, remembering Crowley suffering, shaking and in tears under the force of a level 08 punishment. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly, _hating_ that these were the kinds of options he had to think about - that he had to _actually consider_ whether such a punishment might be worth it, if it meant getting Crowley to safety.

"For… for how long?"

_**Under such conditions, punishment would be sustained until archangel override. **_

Sustained. _Continuous_ punishment, enough to debilitate Crowley completely - and prevent any further attempt at escape, Aziraphale supposed was the official, reasonable explanation. He was becoming increasingly certain that the real reason was nothing more than Gabriel's own cruelty. He imagined Crowley suffering under the force of that collar, waiting for Gabriel to show up and turn it down - if he chose to turn it down at all.

A brief image flashed through Aziraphale's mind, the image of _Gabriel_ forced to wear the detestable thing instead, _Gabriel_ shaking, kneeling on the floor and begging for nonexistent mercy.

It was an intensely satisfying image.

With an effort, Aziraphale pushed it from his mind, drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes. It didn't help to think this way. Fantasies of vengeance were useless as long as Crowley was still under Gabriel's power. He needed to focus on Crowley, on _helping _Crowley - not avenging him.

Not yet.

He found Crowley in the kitchen, near the windowsill, where his resurrected little plant had found a home, mostly because it was the single spot in the apartment with the best access to natural light. Crowley had taken the plant from the sill and was holding it in his hand. Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised to see that for once, Crowley's gorgeous golden eyes were exposed, his glasses sitting on the counter beside him. As Aziraphale approached, Crowley leaned in close to the plant, gently handling and examining its leaves while he whispered to it.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, not wanting to startle Crowley - who startled anyway, jumping a little before turning to face Aziraphale. He shifted self-consciously on his feet, not quite making eye contact.

"You're s'posed to talk to them," he pointed out, a little defensive. "Helps."

"Well, yes, of course it does," Aziraphale agreed, pleased. "All living things need connection to thrive." He paused a moment, his smile fading a little as he reached out to take Crowley's hand. "Can you come with me into the living room for a bit, dear? I need to ask you about something."

"All right…" Crowley's tone was guarded, cautious. Worry crept into his expression as he reached for his glasses on the counter. Aziraphale couldn't bear it, especially now when he really _needed_ to know that Crowley was being honest with him. He caught Crowley's other hand before it could collect the sunglasses, gently tugging him away from the counter.

"Come on, love, come with me…"

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, looking over his shoulder toward his glasses, but Aziraphale slid his arm around his waist, guiding him away and into the other room. He sat down on the sofa, still holding Crowley's hand, and Crowley slowly, reluctantly sat down beside him.

"What?" he asked, defensive.

_Right, then. Off to a fantastic start…_

"It's just… I have some questions. About the collar. You know I'm attempting to find a way to get rid of it, but… until I can… we may end up having to use it, should Gabriel come round to check on us…"

"Yes, angel, we've been through all this…"

"I can't use it, though, Crowley. I can't, in good conscience, not - not unless I know what it's really like."

Crowley frowned. "Don't see how that's possible."

"_Tell me_." Crowley looked up at Aziraphale sharply, and Aziraphale gently squeezed his hand. "I can't inflict any amount of pain on you, my dear, no matter how small, without knowing what it is I'm doing to you. _Please_. Just… walk me through it? What each level is like?"

Crowley looked away, swallowing slowly.

"Right now," Aziraphale prompted softly. "It's at the lowest level, right now. What does it feel like, for you?"

"Not bad." Crowley shrugged a little, his gaze focused on the messy pile of books and papers that covered the coffee table. "It's - white noise, basically. Static, in my head. Not even aware of it most of the time, anymore."

"So… it doesn't hurt," Aziraphale concluded, though it hardly sounded pleasant.

"No," Crowley confirmed, shaking his head once. "Just… sort of like the feeling you get… just _before_ a headache? All - tight and tension-y, but… doesn't hurt." He paused a moment, considering, before adding, "Makes me tired. Makes miracles… challenging."

Aziraphale nodded slowly. "You said before, 02 feels like… a consistent static electricity shock…"

Crowley nodded.

"And… beyond that?"

Crowley drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky rush. "Right. If 01 is just _before_ a headache, 03 is like… a fairly mild all-over migraine. Head, body, wings, everything aches, but… I can still function. Miracles, out of the question, but… after a bit, I get used to it… can ignore it. Not so bad."

It didn't _sound_ "not so bad" to Aziraphale. He frowned. "Then what's a 05 like?" It was where Crowley expected him to leave it if Gabriel were to show up. Aziraphale had to _know_.

"It's, uh… worse." Crowley closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "Debilitating. Distracting. Keeps me from being able to… to focus, or… concentrate on anything for long at all." He wrapped his arms around his body, lowering his head and blinking rapidly.

Aziraphale hesitated. It didn't sound as if it was something he'd be willing to inflict on Crowley. But… they _did_ have a way to be sure.

"Can you - can you show me?" Crowley looked up at him quickly, frowning, but Aziraphale pressed on. "Show me the memory of it?"

Through the connection they shared, if he chose to, Crowley could access the memory, could share it with Aziraphale as if it was his own. Aziraphale would feel his pain as he'd felt it, know for certain _exactly_ what he'd be putting Crowley through if he set the collar to that level.

"No." Crowley's voice was sharp, certain.

"Just for a moment… if _you're_ going to have to feel it…"

"_I said no!_" Crowley raised his voice, the words trembling with fury. "I didn't go through all that so that you could feel it, too, angel, I did it so that you _wouldn't_!"

Aziraphale's heart _ached_ with such overwhelming love that he couldn't contain it . "Oh, I'm sorry… oh, _Crowley_," he said softly, and watched as the tenderness and gratitude in his voice undid his demon, his face crumpling before he dropped it into his shaking hands.

"Angel, I-I don't think I can…" He drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head.

"Come here, darling."

Aziraphale spoke softly, turning sideways on the sofa and holding out his arms to Crowley. He didn't hesitate, just scooted across the sofa, leaning back against Aziraphale's chest and resting his head on his shoulder. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, resting his hands over Crowley's, kissing his temple.

"You're safe," he whispered. "You're safe, here with me, and you're not going to feel that pain again, I promise."

Crowley was quiet, but a shudder passed through him, as he turned his face in toward Aziraphale's. "I'm sorry, I'm so… such a bloody wreck, angel…"

"Hush," Aziraphale gently rebuked him. "You're not. It's difficult, I can't possibly begin to understand how much. But… I _want_ to."

"Not like that." Even through his tears, Crowley's voice was steely and unyielding.

"Not like that," Aziraphale conceded. It was Crowley's choice to make, his memory, his pain to deal with as he would.

Crowley nodded slowly, relaxing a little at Aziraphale's acceptance.

"When you're ready, my dear," Aziraphale whispered, raising one hand to brush his fingers through Crowley's hair, across his brow. "Just take your time."

"Right." After a moment, Crowley cleared his throat, drew in a shaky breath. "05 was… where he left it most of the time, when he wasn't… wasn't there. 06 and 07 were more or less the same as each other, just… far more intense. Like… a muscle cramp you can't walk off, can't work out, just… everywhere. Coming in waves, over and over… He'd save that for punishment, if I..."

He stopped abruptly. His shoulders were shaking.

"And he set it higher than that. That first day, when I found you." Aziraphale fought back the rage building in his chest - the last thing Crowley needed to feel from him. "He set it at 08."

Crowley nodded, continuing in a halting, tearful voice. "Saved that for when he was _really_ pissed off. 08 and 09, both, they're - unbearable. Relentless, overwhelming pain. Just - rips through you again and again, 'til you can't - can't breathe, can't move, just… just want it to be over. _Anything _for it to be over, just… after a few minutes…"

Aziraphale was horrified, remembering Gabriel's words that day.

"He said he'd left it on 10 for _hours _at a time."

Crowley nodded slowly, silent, pressing in closer to Aziraphale, pulling his arm tighter around him.

"If - if that's an 08 or a 09…" Aziraphale could barely bring himself to ask, afraid of the answer. "... then what's 10 feel like?"

Crowley was quiet, trembling in Aziraphale's arms, quiet for so long that Aziraphale began to think he wasn't going to answer at all. And then he did, his voice a hoarse and haunted whisper in the stillness.

"_Falling_."

Aziraphale felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, his heart shattering at the realization of the absolute cruelty of the suffering that had been inflicted on Crowley, who had done literally _nothing_ to deserve it. He wrapped his arms tighter around his broken demon, tears falling from his eyes as he closed them, pressing his cheek against the top of Crowley's head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, my darling…"

Crowley's response was to turn in his arms, pressing his face against Aziraphale's chest, holding onto him tight. "I can't," he whispered at last, shaking his head, and Aziraphale could feel the heat of Crowley's tears soaking through his shirt. "Not again, I can't…"

"You _won't_," Aziraphale promised, fiercely. "I won't _ever_ let that happen."

_When Crowley awakened on the cold stone floor of his cell, there was only darkness. _

_And pain. _

_His head felt as if it was on fire, the searing agony centered around his eyes. His heart raced, his stomach lurching at the memory of what Gabriel had done. His hands trembled as he raised them toward his face, afraid to touch, afraid to _know_ \- but he _had _to. He thought he would vomit when he felt the mangled, melted flesh where his eyes used to be. _

_Panic threatened to overwhelm him. Burns from pure holy water never fully healed on their own. His horribly damaged eyes would never heal themselves. _

_He stood up, carefully, holding out his arms and slowly circling around, trying to gauge exactly where in the room he was._

"_Morning, gorgeous."_

_Gabriel's voice close behind him was taunting, viciously amused with himself, and in spite of himself Crowley felt a rush of shame, imagining what he must look like now, hideously deformed, disgusting. _

_He spun around toward the sound of Gabriel's voice, his hands hitting Gabriel's chest. He tried to push the archangel away, but Gabriel easily caught his arms and pinned him up against the wall, despite his futile, aimless struggles. _

"_Stop fighting, Crowley," Gabriel ordered. He sighed when Crowley kept trying to twist out of his grasp, pulling him away from the wall and then slamming him into it hard enough to take his breath. "Think about it for a second. You manage to _actually hit me_, and that collar will punish you." He leaned in close, pinning Crowley's arms across his chest with one hand and reaching up to brush Crowley's hair back from his face with the other, his voice hushed and private. "And then, _I'll_ punish you." His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with menace and hushed against Crowley's ear. "One guess which will be worse." _

_Crowley was still, his racing heart thudding in his ears, panic clawing its way through his chest and telling him to fight, fight, _fight_… but he knew it was useless. He was at an utterly hopeless disadvantage. _

"_That's it." Gabriel's voice was gentle, soothing. "That's better... You know, this didn't have to happen to you, Crowley. All I asked of you was a little bit of respect." His hand dropped from Crowley's hair to tilt his head up a little before he spoke again, quiet and expectant. "Are you going to show me respect now?" _

_Crowley jerked his head away, stubbornly closing his mouth and refusing to answer - bracing himself for the blow he fully expected in retaliation. _

_It didn't come. _

"_Well." Gabriel sounded surprisingly satisfied. "I suppose that's progress, anyway." _

_Crowley frowned, confused. It took him a moment to understand what Gabriel was talking about. Gabriel apparently found his silence more satisfactory than his constant cursing retorts. That realization made Crowley want to speak up, to curse Gabriel again - to not let him win. _

_He found that he didn't have the strength of will to do so. It felt so very pointless, now. _

"_Tell me about you and your boyfriend Aziraphale." Gabriel's voice was quiet, touched with a hint of mockery. _

"_He's not my boyfriend," Crowley replied, hating the tremor, the weakness of his voice. "We're not even friends, we're not _anything_. I barely even know him." _

_Gabriel touched Crowley's cheek, and Crowley flinched a little from the unexpected contact. Without warning, it was followed by a breathtaking backhand blow, and Gabriel stepped back to allow Crowley to fall to the floor, gasping at the overwhelming wave of agony that consumed his ravaged face. After a moment Gabriel's hand roughly grasped the collar and dragged Crowley up again, shoving him against the wall and then letting go of him. _

_Instinctively Crowley held out his hands, defensive - but he didn't even know where to strike, if he'd wanted to - couldn't tell just exactly where Gabriel was, in the room. He heard a soft, sliding sort of sound, and then Gabriel was close to him again, one hand gripping his arm to hold him in place. _

"_It's probably best if you just tell me the truth at this point, Crowley," Gabriel said matter-of-factly, leaning in closer, secretive, falsely sympathetic. "Because, honestly? I'm not sure how much more you can take."_

_Crowley's breath was quick, now, his heart racing, but he mustered up every last trace of courage and defiance he had, turning his sightless face in the direction of Gabriel's smug, taunting voice. _

"_However much you've got," he replied, soft and certain, with a forced smile._

_Gabriel laughed, low and appreciative. "You sure are making me work for it, aren't you?" he remarked. Then he moved in closer, close enough for Crowley to feel the heat of his body, the brush of fabric against his skin. Then he felt something else, against his chest - smooth and leather - as Gabriel leaned in to whisper in his ear. "That's just gonna make it _so much sweeter_." _

_As he spoke, the leather thing against Crowley's skin - some sort of whip, Crowley knew; he'd been through Hell's training program, hadn't he? - began to singe his skin, and his heart sank as he realized: the weapon had been blessed. Gabriel let it linger against him for a moment longer before removing it, stepping back away from Crowley, and repeating his question, his tone calm and even. _

"_Tell me about you and Aziraphale."_

_Crowley swallowed, steadying himself. "There's nothing to tell." _

_The pain that bloomed across his chest took his breath - the twin fires of the whip itself slicing into his flesh, and the burn that followed in the wake of the lash. He collapsed after the second blow, gasping, uselessly trying to get away from it. _

_Gabriel had not bothered with restraining him; there was no point. Crowley couldn't very well avoid the blows when he couldn't tell where they were coming from, or where they'd land next. There was no move he could make that Gabriel couldn't easily anticipate and counter. Again and again, Gabriel asked the same question. Again and again, Crowley denied knowing the answer. _

_And again and again, the lash fell, until his entire body was aflame with agony and the floor was slick with his blood. _

_The whip curled around Crowley's shoulder, the end of it tearing into the side of his throat, and he choked and coughed, holding up a pleading hand, and gasping out, "Stop! I'm telling you the truth, _please_…" _

_All at once… Gabriel did stop. _

_He went quiet for a long moment. Crowley flinched when he heard the slide of the whip through Gabriel's hands, but it did not fall again. And then Gabriel's footsteps, slow and measured, drew nearer to him. Crowley could only hold up his hands, a pathetically useless defensive gesture, as Gabriel grabbed him by the throat and shoved his shredded back into the rough stone. Crowley's cry of agony was choked off by the archangel's hand as he leaned in close, whispering against his ear. _

"_I don't believe you." _

_Crowley's heart sank, and he tried to prepare himself for more - but his entire body was quaking with pain and exhaustion, and a slow creeping despair at the thought of even _one more blow_. _

He's right, you can't take it, can't handle any more, pathetic coward...

_But then, Gabriel let him go, allowing him to sink back down to the floor as his footsteps slowly walked away. Crowley was stunned when he heard the sound of the door closing behind Gabriel as he left. He hadn't bothered to turn up the collar this time. Perhaps because he wanted Crowley's focus on the agony he'd just inflicted. _

_The pain of the collar would have been a relief, compared to this._

_Blind and helpless, his entire body screaming its outrage at the damage it had taken, Crowley huddled there with his face to the floor, shivering with cold and shock, and praying for the mercy of death to take him. _


	12. Chapter 12

"Excuse me, sir... "

The Archangel Gabriel looked up from his laptop expectantly at the nervous angel standing in the doorway of his office, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else. His new assistant, for only the last hundred years or so, and a pathetic excuse for one at that. Still, Gabriel supposed it was about time he learned the useless little angel's name.

"Yes?"

"The Principality Aziraphale is here to see you."

Gabriel sat back in his seat a little, blinking.

Well. _That_ was unexpected.

And intriguing.

"Is the demon with him?"

"No, sir, I don't believe so."

_Hmm. Disappointing. _

Still, Gabriel wondered at the purpose for Aziraphale's visit, and what he might be able to get out of it. He'd have thought that Aziraphale would be keeping his distance for as long as possible. If he was here, seeking Gabriel out, well - he probably had a reason that was, at the very least, _interesting_.

"Go back to your desk and wait for twenty minutes," Gabriel instructed. "Then tell him he can come in."

Gabriel didn't need twenty minutes. He didn't need any time at all, really. He had all the time he could ever want.

And what he wanted right now was simply to make Aziraphale wait. To make him sit out there, fidgeting and uncomfortable and worrying over whatever request he was certainly about to make… all the while being reminded of his _utter insignificance_ in the grand scheme of the archangel's day.

While he waited, Gabriel looked back at his laptop, opening the tab that showed him the data feed from the demon's collar. He'd already seen it twice that day. He checked it quite frequently, in fact, just wanted to refresh his memory before meeting with Aziraphale.

He smiled grimly at the screen, simultaneously satisfied and annoyed.

It wasn't the least bit surprising to him that the collar had been set to level 01 since practically the _minute_ he'd sent Aziraphale and Crowley back to that dusty little bookshop. It also was not surprising that they'd made a trip to the demon's apartment. Aziraphale was really ridiculously obvious. If he thought he was fooling anyone, well - "anyone" most certainly did _not_ include Gabriel.

It wasn't solid evidence, of course. All purely circumstantial, incapable of really proving anything. Aziraphale could always argue that he'd lowered the collar's setting because he wanted to put the demon to work, and therefore didn't want it too incapacitated. It made sense that he'd want clean clothes for it occasionally, and didn't want to leave it alone while he went to get them. There were perfectly valid excuses Aziraphale could offer for the information Gabriel had thus far.

Still… Gabriel knew better.

Perhaps he could use this information to trap Aziraphale in a lie. That would certainly be helpful - but still not enough.

He wanted to bust Aziraphale for a _lot_ worse than simply lying to his superiors.

_And I will. In time. Just have to be patient. Because the real goal is a lot bigger and more important than one soft, foolish little angel. Gotta keep your eye on the prize…_

_Give Crowley a little while longer. _Let him _feel safe and comfortable in that stupid little shop. _

_So much more satisfying that way, when it's time to go and yank the rug out from under him. _

When Aziraphale knocked on the glass door to his office, Gabriel waved him in with a cheery, toothy smile. "Hey, Aziraphale. How's it going with your new pet… project?" He put just the slightest pause between the two words, barely suppressing a smirk.

Aziraphale was just as fussy and prim as ever, hands folded neatly across his stomach as he replied politely. "It's going quite well, thank you. He's given me very little trouble."

Gabriel allowed himself a smirk, then watched Aziraphale for his reaction as he said in a smug, pointed tone, "You're welcome."

Aziraphale's reaction did not disappoint. Gabriel didn't miss the flare in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth as he barely managed to rein in his anger and hide it behind his polite facade. It was almost as much fun as it had been torturing his pet demon in front of him, watching his frustration and knowing that he was helpless to do anything about it. Gabriel waited for Aziraphale's response, wondering if he'd actually get a "thank you" out of it.

_Wouldn't _that _just be delicious..._

"Yes, well," Aziraphale replied at last, his tone cool. "He was never that much of a challenge to begin with."

Gabriel shrugged a little. "Point taken. What can I do for you, Aziraphale?"

"Well, you see, I've run into a slight issue," Aziraphale explained. "And I was hoping you could help."

Gabriel waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"It's… the demon's wings," he continued, his words cautiously measured. "I understand from the manual that the device is currently set so that he can't control them himself. They're locked onto the physical plane, and only you have the authority to… _unlock_ them, as it were."

"That's correct." Gabriel watched Aziraphale appraisingly, wondering how far he would dare, just where he was going with this.

"The problem is, well… as you know, I have other work I must attend to besides just looking after the demon," Aziraphale explained. "I can't very well leave him unattended for long periods of time. Which is not a problem, he is quite obedient and I have no issue with taking him with me on my various errands. It's just that, as it stands now, well… that involves at least a minor miracle, every time, so that the humans don't…"

"He's unattended _now_, though," Gabriel pointed out with clear disapproval, suppressing a smile as Aziraphale squirmed a little under his glare.

"Yes, but I did leave the collar set at a higher level than usual in order to ensure he'd be too debilitated to cause any trouble."

Gabriel glanced at the continuous, up-to-the-minute readings on his laptop - unchanged from minutes earlier - and smiled up at Aziraphale, nodding.

"Good thinking."

Gabriel considered for a moment, schooling his expression into something casually speculative, before suggesting slowly, watching Aziraphale's face, "We could always… _remove _the demon's wings. Then it wouldn't be a problem." He paused a moment, his voice deceptively mild, almost bored as he reminded Aziraphale, "It's just a demon."

The shock and horror on Aziraphale's face was absolutely _hilarious_. His flustered reaction as he tried to come up with a response that would counter Gabriel's point without showing too much concern for the demon he was supposed to be punishing - the demon he was supposed to _hate_ \- well, Gabriel had a _very_ difficult time concealing his amusement.

"Surely that's not - not necessary, I mean, I can work at the shop more often, I can…"

"I'm _kidding_, Aziraphale," Gabriel relented, rolling his eyes and giving the angel a tolerant grin. He held up his hands, a mildly offended expression on his face. "What do you think I _am_, a monster?"

The fact that Aziraphale didn't actually answer the question, only offered an anxious, forced little laugh, was not lost on Gabriel. But the fact was, Aziraphale's request actually made sense. And the idea of him taking Crowley out in public just opened up so many new possibilities. Gabriel smiled a little to himself at the thought of the interesting opportunities it might afford him to toy with his little pet a bit more.

"Okay, I'll change the settings so that he can put his wings away, or take them out. I'll leave it to you to tell him when to do which," Gabriel conceded, almost laughing aloud at Aziraphale's very visible relief. "Give me just a second." He turned toward his laptop, accessing the collar's operating system settings, keeping his expression serious and concerned as he continued, "There's just… one more thing, though. If we're going to make this change, then I think we also need to take a little bit of extra… _precaution_."

While Aziraphale was off visiting Heaven, Crowley passed the time first looking over the books and notes Aziraphale had been so diligently studying lately; and then when he proved far too anxious and fidgety to sit still for long, he set about cleaning the apartment, trying his best to keep busy and not think about the fact that Aziraphale was _alone_, in _Heaven_, with _Gabriel_, and there wasn't a _blessed thing_ he could do about it.

Mostly, he was just trying his best to _not fucking panic_.

_What if it's some kind of trap? What if he lets something slip by accident that gives Gabriel the proof he wants? What if Gabriel doesn't let him come back at all?_

He cursed his own fears, shutting out the dark thoughts and focusing on the task in front of him - scrubbing down the kitchen counters. The living area was already spotless by this point - the wood polished until it gleamed, the carpets vacuumed, the books and papers stacked as neatly as Crowley could manage without risking mixing up all of Aziraphale's hard work.

Now, Crowley had already finished washing the breakfast dishes and cleaning out the cupboards. The sink was running full blast, filling the basin up with fresh hot water, while he scrubbed furiously at the counters, just trying to work out the manic, frustrated energy he felt at being so helpless to do anything to assist Aziraphale, to _protect_ him.

_Please come home, angel, please come home…_

A firm hand on his shoulder startled Crowley out of his internal mantra, his heart lurching with panic.

_They've taken him, they've taken Aziraphale prisoner and now they've come for me…_

Crowley spun around in a defensive pose, one arm raised to strike - and abruptly the collar fired, sending sparks of agony down his spine throughout his body and driving him to his knees. He gasped for breath, his head swimming, heart pounding as the figure who'd touched him crouched down in front of him, reaching out a cautious hand toward him.

He blinked, his vision slowly clearing and revealing that it was Aziraphale, staring at him with wide, worried eyes and speaking to him, though he couldn't make out the words through the ringing in his ears. Aziraphale reached out to touch him again, and Crowley flinched away, confused and afraid and feeling utterly, irrationally betrayed.

He hadn't even _done_ anything.

The rules appeared to have abruptly changed.

"... so sorry, my dear, I didn't expect you to be so startled, and I _should have,_ I really should have, I'm _so sorry_…" As the blood rush in Crowley's head faded away, Aziraphale's words slowly came into focus, and when Aziraphale reached out again, this time to take Crowley's hands in his, Crowley allowed it. "It was an exchange, you see, and I thought there'd be time to warn you, oh my dear, oh goodness, I'm _so sorry_…"

Crowley just blinked up at him in confusion - not really catching any of it.

Aziraphale bit his lip, his brow furrowed with anxious concern, before he shook his head with a sigh, giving up and scooting in close to Crowley on the floor.

"Oh, just… come here, my darling, come here…"

Crowley gratefully sank into his arms, holding onto him tight as the remaining tremors in his no longer spasming muscles faded away.

He'd been so afraid he'd lost him.

Aziraphale just sat there with Crowley, gently rubbing his back and softly soothing him, until the pain had completely passed and Crowley had gone still in his arms. Finally, he spoke, quiet and careful.

"You should be able to put away your wings, now, dear. Go ahead, try."

Crowley hesitated, somewhat irrationally afraid of more unexpected, undeserved punishment - but he trusted Aziraphale, and Aziraphale seemed convinced that the purpose of his mission to Heaven had been fulfilled. Cautiously, he tried to put his wings away - and they slid easily, painlessly, back into the spiritual dimension where they usually resided.

"That's better." Aziraphale was pleased, relieved. "That break will heal so much faster now. Do they _feel_ better?"

Crowley nodded. They did, already, a little. Still sore, and Crowley could still feel the metal rings wedged into his joints, more strongly now, as they were in a place where they most certainly did not belong.

As if he'd read his mind, Aziraphale winced apologetically and informed him. "I asked about the rings, removing them. He said he couldn't allow it, _especially_ now that your wings are under your own control. He said… I need to have a means of… of restraining them if necessary. I'm sorry, Crowley."

Crowley just took it in, still a little slow in processing from the haze of pain that had just passed. He was still a little confused, too.

"Why… why did the collar…? I - I didn't even…"

"It was a trade-off," Aziraphale explained, apologetic. "We all know that our wings can be weapons, and - Gabriel was quick to point that out. He agreed to change the settings on the collar, to allow you to hide or reveal your wings at will. But, in exchange, he reset the boundaries on the collar to respond to any _attempt _at violence - not only if said attempt... actually succeeds." Aziraphale's tone, his face, were colored with guilt, as he gently stroked the backs of Crowley's hands. "I didn't think it'd be a problem, as you're… never violent at all, not with me. I thought I'd have time to tell you, so you'd have… warning, I… didn't think I'd walk in to you… trying to take my head off."

He clearly wasn't angry. There was a sort of rueful amusement in his words, and a heavy sense of regret. It was quite obvious to Crowley that Aziraphale did not blame him for what had happened.

It was equally obvious to Crowley that he _should_.

_You tried to hit him. _The voice in his head was vicious, accusing. _You useless, ungrateful little piece of shit, you tried to _hurt Aziraphale, _who has done _nothing _but help you, who just risked his _life _for you, and he comes back to his home, and you attack him, you worthless, stupid little demon filth, you deserve it, that's why it went off, because you _deserve it_..._

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice was achingly concerned, attentive, his hand on Crowley's face devastatingly gentle. "Are you all right, my love?"

It left him with a cold, scared feeling in the pit of his stomach - this kindness and affection that he did not deserve. What he deserved was to be slapped down like the ungrateful creature he was, to be _punished_ for what he'd done - and it left him feeling confused and off-balance and waiting, just endlessly _waiting_… because Aziraphale wouldn't. He knew that much. Not ever, no matter how much his behavior merited it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, clutching at Aziraphale's hands, lowering his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"You didn't know it was me," Aziraphale reminded him, warm and reassuring. "Darling, it's all right…"

It _wasn't_ all right, he didn't deserve this kindness and mercy, didn't deserve even to _be_ here. The rules had all changed, more than once now, and Crowley felt desperately confused. He _needed_ the consequences of his actions, he needed just to know that it was _over_, that he was_ forgiven_, needed to somehow make it all make sense in his muddled, overwhelmed head.

He needed to make it up to Aziraphale - to _earn_ the forgiveness his angel offered him so easily.

"Crowley, darling," Aziraphale murmured, kissing the top of his head. "Look at me, love…"

Crowley lifted his head, but only high enough to press into Aziraphale's neck, kissing him, pulling his hands free of Aziraphale's and sliding them around the angel's waist, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Aziraphale drew in a sharp, shaky gasp, and swiftly caught Crowley's wrists, pulling them up a little, pushing him back and trying to make eye contact.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly, studying Crowley's face with concern. "My dear, is this… really the time…?"

Crowley had never been so grateful for his sunglasses. He looked up, not quite into Aziraphale's eyes, twisting his hands free, and placing one on Aziraphale's shoulder and the other back at his waist.

"I just… just thought I'd lost you," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion as he buried his face in Aziraphale's neck again, his next words slightly muffled. "Don't _ever_ want to lose you…"

It was the truth.

Crowley had started the day afraid of losing Aziraphale to Gabriel. Now, he was afraid of something else - afraid that Aziraphale would grow impatient with Crowley's useless, broken state… afraid that he would grow tired of waiting for Crowley to be ready… afraid that he would become angry with Crowley's stupid, ungrateful behavior and, rather than lash out and retaliate… he'd simply walk away and not come back.

"I love you, angel," Crowley whispered, punctuating the word with a slow, open-mouthed kiss against Aziraphale's throat. "Love you so much…"

Aziraphale's breath stuttered a little, his hands shifting to pull Crowley closer, rather than to hold him at a distance. Encouraged, Crowley rose up on his knees, straddling Aziraphale's lap and taking his face in his hands to kiss his mouth. Aziraphale was tentative, uncertain for just a moment before returning the kiss, pushing forward, one hand grasping the back of Crowley's head and the other cupping his hip. He drew back abruptly.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his breath harsh and gasping, his forehead resting against Crowley's. "Darling, _are you sure_?"

"_Yes_," Crowley hissed, impatient. "Yes, I'm sure… I need you, need you _now_, angel…"

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment through eyes hazy with desire, before nodding his acceptance. "All right," he whispered. "All right."

He still seemed a little uncertain, vaguely suspicious, but Crowley could _feel _the intensity of the angel's _want_, and _this - this_ he could do. Damaged as he was, he was good at _this_. He could make Aziraphale forget his mistake, could make him feel good, make it _worth it _for him to deal with Crowley's brokenness and unworthiness.

He could make his angel happy.

"Come on," he said, low and husky against Aziraphale's neck, before rising to his feet. He took Aziraphale's hand and helped him to stand as well, and Aziraphale immediately moved in for another kiss, his arms wrapping Crowley up and pulling him in tight, stealing his breath and making his heart beat faster with both fear and desire.

_You can do this, you can do this for him, he deserves it…_

Breaking the kiss to gasp for breath, Crowley forced his trembling lips into some semblance of an enticing smile, breathing out a whispered invitation.

"Let's go to bed, angel…"


	13. Chapter 13

_Crowley had to hand it to Gabriel - taking his eyes had been a stroke of brutal, sadistic genius. _

_He wasn't sure he knew of anyone, even in Hell, who could have come up with something so effective. _

_It was nearly impossible to pretend that you weren't afraid, when you couldn't tell where the next attack was going to come from or what it was going to be - when you didn't even know if you were alone or not from one moment to the next, or if your tormentor might instantly materialize behind you or beside you, literally out of thin air. _

_It was impossible to maintain a facade of defiance… impossible to throw witty retorts in the face of your captor, when you couldn't even _see_ his face, couldn't see what he was going to throw back in brutal retaliation. _

_And Gabriel just _loved _to surprise him. _

_He'd enter the cell not via the door, but would rather simply appear directly behind Crowley, usually not even making his presence known until touching Crowley - usually someplace he'd left particularly sore and painful during their last session. At first, Crowley would instinctively shove his hands away, quickly attempting to put some distance between them. _

_He swiftly learned not to do that. _

_The one time he actually managed to _hurt_ Gabriel, just a little, with an ill-aimed fist to his stomach - it was just as Gabriel had promised. The collar had fired, taking his breath and driving him to his knees. _

_And then, Gabriel had snapped his wrist, leaving it in agony throughout that day's session, and throughout the long, painful hours until he returned to the cell again. _

_Of course, he healed it when he returned. Every time, he'd heal Crowley's injuries from the previous session, before starting in on him again. _

_Gabriel liked to start with a clean canvas._

_The routine was the same every time - a few cherished moments free of pain, every lash, every bruise, every break, healed - and then the questions. Questions Crowley could never, ever answer to Gabriel's satisfaction. Gabriel's fury and frustration became increasingly obvious with every fruitless session, and Crowley found himself shaking at the sound of his footsteps, hating himself for the tears, for the pleas, that came more easily all the time. _

_Slowly, Gabriel was stripping him of his defiance… his pride… his dignity. _

_Gabriel could have all that. What he couldn't have, ever, was Aziraphale._

_The routine was the same, every single time. _

_Until it wasn't. _

_Crowley was drifting in and out of consciousness on his feet, leaning against the wall of his cell. Gabriel hadn't set the collar higher than 02 in a while; the injuries he inflicted were far worse than its punishment. Real sleep was impossible when Crowley's whole body felt as if it were burning, but the exhaustion of blood loss and constant pain drove his eyes to close, his body to relax._

_He didn't hear Gabriel come in. _

_All at once, firm hands touched his hips - intimate, invasive. Crowley's heart lurched and he instinctively tried to push the hands away. Gabriel grabbed his arms and pinned them roughly over his head against the wall, one strong hand grasping his wrist and twisting until Crowley let out a hoarse, pleading whimper. _

_Gabriel's breath was hot and harsh against his ear as he snarled, "I wouldn't suggest trying that again." _

_Crowley shook his head to indicate that he wouldn't, letting out a stuttering breath as Gabriel abruptly released his wrists. He stayed still as he felt the heat of Gabriel's healing hand passing over him, erasing the previous day's damage and leaving his body, for the moment, whole. _

_And then, Gabriel was touching him again. His large, warm hands traced the base of Crowley's ribs, sliding down to his hips. Crowley's heart raced, and he fought the impulse to pull away, to push Gabriel away. _

"_I wonder what he sees in you," Gabriel mused, his voice low and thoughtful, and Crowley felt sick when he realized what Gabriel meant. "What could possibly be worth… _lowering_ himself to your level? I mean, not that _his_ level's ever been all that impressive to begin with," Gabriel scoffed. "But… even with those… disgusting demonic monstrosities burned out of your head…" One hand brushed against the side of Crowley's face, and he flinched away, his heart leaping up into his throat. "... you're still nothing special," Gabriel concluded, for the moment choosing to ignore Crowley's instinctive resistance. "Not even close to worth it. Why would he do it?" _

"_He didn't," Crowley insisted, his voice coming out choked and desperate. "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm telling you that _never happened_…" _

_The fierce backhand blow came out of nowhere - as all the blows did, anymore - knocking Crowley to the floor. Before he could even crawl back onto his knees, Gabriel's hand was at his throat, dragging him up and slamming him back into the wall with breathtaking force. Immediately he was in Crowley's face, biting out a low, menacing threat. _

"_Do I need to gag you again?"_

No, please no, don't do that...

_Crowley shook his head, biting his lip, fighting back the panicked impulse to plead, certain that in this case, more words would only make matters worse. Gabriel wanted his silence. At least that was one point on which Crowley could comply. But Gabriel was hardly satisfied with Crowley's silence alone. He kept one hand on Crowley's throat, pinning him against the wall, while his other hand explored the expanse of Crowley's skin. One flat palm lay against Crowley's heaving stomach, then slid its way slowly downward. _

_Crowley reacted in instinctive alarm, reaching out one hand to rest on Gabriel's arm - not _really_ trying to stop him, no, he knew better than that by now. It was simply instinct to attempt to protect himself from this unfamiliar intrusion. Gabriel's hand stilled low on his abdomen, his other hand squeezing tighter around Crowley's throat, and Crowley struggled desperately to breathe - forgetting that he didn't have to. _

"_Take that filthy hand off me, demon," Gabriel commanded, quiet and cold. "Before I take it off _you_." _

_Crowley obeyed, holding it up between them, defensive and pleading at once. He knew he couldn't resist, but he couldn't simply do _nothing_, either. Confused, scared, unable to gauge Gabriel's intentions by anything other than his touch, he swallowed hard to make his dry mouth form words. _

"_Wh-what… what are you doing?" he whispered desperately. _

_Gabriel didn't punish him for the question. He just answered, callus and cruel, sliding a hand down to trace the line of Crowley's bare hip. _

"_Whatever I want." _

"_Don't," Crowley tried again, hating the way his voice shook. "No, don't…" _

_Gabriel's thumb pressed into the hollow of Crowley's throat, choking him, silencing him, and Gabriel leaned in close, his breath hot against Crowley's ear. "You don't get to say no, demon." _

_Gabriel's strong hand at his throat slid around to the back of his neck, dragged him away from the wall and forced him to his knees in the middle of the floor. When his heavy hand on Crowley's neck shoved his face forward against the rough stone, his much larger body covering Crowley's from behind, there was no more mistaking his intentions - no matter how desperately Crowley wanted to be wrong. _

"_No," he pleaded, trying to rise back up onto his knees, trying to pull away. "Please, don't… no, don't do this…" _

_Gabriel responded to his weak struggle and desperate words with a vicious punch to the side of Crowley's ribs, followed by another in swift succession. As Crowley fought for breath, Gabriel yanked him up against his body, long enough to growl in his ear, "Keep fighting me, Crowley. See what happens." _

_When he shoved him down again, deliberately slamming his head into the floor, Crowley stayed there, shaking violently, tears of fear and pain and humiliation streaking his face. _

"_Please," he repeated, desperate, but with fading hope of mercy. "Please, don't…" _

"_Come on, what's the big deal?" Gabriel laughed, and Crowley shuddered at the sound of his zipper going down. "You must have done this hundreds of times. Everyone knows all demons are whores." _

_Whatever could be said of other demons, or vile rapist angels, for that matter - Crowley wasn't. _

_He'd loved Aziraphale for 6000 years. And although only for the past fourteen of those years had he dared to believe Aziraphale would ever love him back - he'd never wanted anyone else, never _been_ with anyone else._

_He'd only ever "done this" with Aziraphale. _

_Though, in actuality - _not_ this. Not even _close_ to this._

_Aziraphale, with his gentle hands and searching eyes… Aziraphale, who was careful and attentive and asked him, _"Is this all right, dear?"_ and _"Are you comfortable?"_ and _"Do you like this?"_ Aziraphale was always so focused on Crowley, and what he needed and wanted and how it felt for him. With Aziraphale, "this" was intimate and beautiful, and made Crowley feel cherished and loved._

_Now, all Crowley felt was _broken_. _

_Gabriel was violent and selfish, pinning Crowley's arms behind his back and slamming his face into the floor, agonizing his cracked ribs, with every thrust as he forced his way in, brutalizing Crowley and violating him in a way that even Hell had never done. Through the haze of his pain and humiliation, Crowley could hear someone sobbing, pleading… and only realized as Gabriel finally, _finally_ pulled out and stopped touching him, that it was _him_. _

_Crowley lay there for a few moments, trying to catch his breath, before weakly managing to climb up onto his knees. His own blood and Gabriel's come slid down his thighs, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Gabriel's hand touched his head, fingers sliding through his hair, and Crowley jerked away, instinctively. _

_Abruptly Gabriel grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking him closer to him. Breathless, terrified, Crowley went still and pliant as Gabriel leaned into his face, his voice hard and merciless. _

"_Eventually, you're going to learn to _stop fighting me_." _

"_S-sorry, sorry," Crowley hissed out, his hands up, pleading. _

_Gabriel laughed softly, cruelly amused. "You really are a little serpent, aren't you?" he teased. "Just when you get… s-s-scared?" He paused. "Or when you're spitting venom in my face." Icy terror trickled down Crowley's spine as Gabriel's thumb traced slowly across his trembling lips, his voice deadly, deceptively soft. "You feel like trying that trick again, little serpent?"_

"_N-no," Crowley whispered, shaking his head, hot tears searing the burned remnants of his ruined eyes. His heart raced with panic. "No, please, I'm s-sorry…" _

_There was a tense, silent moment while Crowley waited for further punishment… before Gabriel finally let go of him with a rough shove, allowing him to collapse back down onto his knees. The vindictive satisfaction, the quiet disgust in his voice made Crowley flinch. _

"_Yeah. I didn't think so." _

_A deep, aching sob rose in Crowley's throat, choking him, and he gasped for breath as he fought to suppress it. He shivered as Gabriel's hand ran idly, possessively through his hair, but he managed to resist his instinct to pull away… stayed still and submissive to the contact, though the archangel's touch made his skin crawl. He was at risk of being sick at any moment, and terrified to think of what Gabriel would do if Crowley vomited on him. He tried to take deep breaths, tried his best to keep still. _

"_That's better… much better," Gabriel said quietly after a few moments. "You know, I do get it now. Your… appeal. Shame on Aziraphale for keeping you all to himself all this time." Crowley tensed as he felt Gabriel lean in close, but dared not try to move away. "Doesn't matter," Gabriel whispered. "You're mine _now_." _

_Crowley shuddered at the dark promise of those words, and stayed where he was as Gabriel rose to his feet, his footsteps walking slowly away, the door of the cell closing behind him. He raised his head, but stayed where he was still, on his knees, his arms wrapped around his shivering, shocked body as he struggled to catch his breath. _

_Abruptly - magically - Gabriel was back, his hand at Crowley's throat pulling him back against the silken fabric of his suit, which Crowley thought absently must certainly be soiled beyond repair at this point. _

"_One more little thing, I almost forgot," Gabriel said softly, almost casually. "If you breathe a word of this… to anyone… ever…" He ran one hand across Crowley's bruised stomach, his other hand tilting Crowley's head to the side and exposing his throat as he leaned in, so close that his lips brushed Crowley's ear as he whispered a cruel promise. "I'll give you your eyes back. Just long enough for you to _watch_. While I _burn Aziraphale alive_."_

_The horrifying threat broke what was left of Crowley's desperate attempt to hold himself together. He forgot that Gabriel _couldn't do that_, not as long as he kept his silence; he forgot that he was supposed to be pretending not to _care_ what happened to Aziraphale. Crowley knew what it was to burn, and all he could imagine was his angel, suffering and burning and _dying_ because of _him_._

"_Please don't," he sobbed. "Don't, don't hurt him… I'll do anything, I'll do anything you want, _please_…"_

_Gabriel laughed against his neck, low and dark. "Yes, you will, sweetheart," he whispered. "Yes, you will." _

As it so often seemed to be… everything was moving just a little too fast for Aziraphale.

He stumbled backward as Crowley eagerly pushed him into the bedroom, his mouth on Aziraphale's mouth, his hands… well, _everywhere_. And it wasn't as if it was the first time, just the _first time in forever_, and Aziraphale could feel the fever of his own desire building up inside of him. He'd wanted this for so long, desperately yearned for it since Crowley had disappeared. In a way, it felt right and perfect and too damn long coming.

And in another way… it felt terribly wrong.

Just minutes earlier, Crowley had been having an utter _meltdown_ on Aziraphale's kitchen floor.

Breathless, Aziraphale managed to pull away from Crowley's kiss long enough to offer a weak protest. "This is… rather sudden, love, are you _sure_…?"

His words broke off in a little hiccup as Crowley pushed him onto the bed, and he sat down hard. Crowley stood in front of him for a moment, before slowly, deliberately removing his glasses and setting them aside on the nightstand, looking into Aziraphale's eyes, his own wide and pleading.

"Don't you want me?"

And well, that was just _cheating_, wasn't it?

Aziraphale swallowed hard, his heart racing, his internal protests dying a swift death.

"Of course I do," Aziraphale couldn't help but reply. "You know I do."

Crowley needed no further encouragement. He made quick work of Aziraphale's jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, then pushed him down onto his back on the bed, straddling his hips before leaning down to kiss him again. It was exhilarating, enticing, how surprisingly aggressive Crowley was being. And it had to be a _good_ thing, right? That his timid, traumatized demon was feeling safe enough and strong enough to do this?

Except… he wasn't, was he?

Aziraphale's worries stirred to life again, because Crowley had been trembling and crying, near panic, in the kitchen just minutes earlier. Pleading and apologizing for nothing more than raising his hand to defend himself.

And he had yet to make any effort to remove _his own_ clothing.

Tentative, more testing than anything, Aziraphale lifted a single hand to run down the length of Crowley's sleeve, his fingers toying with the button. Immediately Crowley caught his wrist, pinning it to the bed and whispering, "Not yet, not yet…" before leaning down to kiss Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale's concerns were stronger than ever now.

"Slow down, love," he urged Crowley, reaching up to touch his face and gently push him back a little, breaking the kiss.

"I don't need to, I'm fine," Crowley insisted, breathless. "It's fine, I'm fine…"

Aziraphale didn't want Crowley to be "fine". He wanted Crowley to _want_ this - enthusiastically and eagerly, and with the ability to go slowly and enjoy it with Aziraphale. And that was not what he was feeling from Crowley right now, not this - panicked, manic desperation.

"Crowley… Crowley, darling…" Aziraphale gently protested.

"I can do this," Crowley muttered - and _that_ had to be the single most disturbing thing he could possibly have said. Aziraphale's heart sank. "It's all right, it's fine…"

He let go of Aziraphale's wrist as he slid down the bed, one hand on Aziraphale's hip, the other reaching for his zipper. And now every instinct Aziraphale possessed was screaming at him that this was _wrong_, this was not a thing that needed to happen, not now. Aziraphale didn't want what Crowley was offering, not like this. He wanted to hold him, to take his time making love to him, reminding him what it felt like to be held and loved and cherished.

He did _not_ want Crowley pushing himself to do something he wasn't ready for, out of some twisted sense of… of _duty_, or obligation.

"Crowley… wait, love, no…"

Just as Crowley's hand slipped into the front of Aziraphale's trousers, Aziraphale caught his wrist and pulled him back up close to him. Crowley came willingly, his gaze wide open and searching Aziraphale's face for a sign of what he wanted. When Aziraphale swiftly reversed their positions, firmly but gently pinning Crowley down to the bed, Crowley let out a startled little laugh. He grinned up at Aziraphale, playfully twisting his wrists in the angel's grasp without really trying to pull away.

"So that's how you want it, is it?" he teased, but his words were too fast, desperate, and his eyes were lit with panic and pain. "Yeah, that's fine, that's it, angel, do it, _take me_…"

"_Enough_, Crowley!" Aziraphale snapped, horrified, appalled, tightening his grip on Crowley's wrists just a little and shaking him once, just enough to stop him.

Crowley flinched, going very still and closing his eyes for a moment before glancing back up at Aziraphale fearfully - and Aziraphale had never felt so low and guilty and ashamed in his entire existence. He immediately eased his grip, rising up a little so that he could really _look_ at Crowley - who, now, despite his tempting little trick with his sunglasses, refused to make eye contact at all.

"Y-you can," he insisted, a breathless whisper, though a little calmer now - and that actually only made it all the more upsetting. "You can do whatever you like, angel, I can do anything you want…"

"What I want is for you to stop this and talk to me," Aziraphale said softly. "Crowley, my dear… where is this coming from, why _now_? What are you hoping to accomplish?" Crowley was silent, and Aziraphale pressed, gentle but stern, "Look at me."

Crowley immediately obeyed, and his eyes were brimming with tears, desperation in his naked, honest words.

"I just want to make you happy_._"

And in that moment, Aziraphale loved him so dearly that it _hurt_, and he ached for the hurt that Crowley was feeling, wishing desperately that he could make Crowley understand.

"You do," he assured him, fiercely intent. "My darling, you _do_!"

Crowley's expression was anguished, uncertain. When he tried to pull one wrist free, Aziraphale let him, and he reached up a trembling hand to touch Aziraphale's face.

"I tried to hurt you," he said. "I almost hit you. And… I've denied you…" Abruptly he looked down at his own shirt, his free hand reaching down and fumbling with the buttons. "Here, I'll take it off if you like, I'll let you…"

"_No_." Aziraphale caught his trembling hand, pulling it between them and holding it, and wrapped his other arm around Crowley, holding him close, too close for him to move or try anything else. "That's not what I want, not if you don't want to, and I _know_ you _don't want to_!" Aziraphale's voice shook as his frustration and confusion poured out of him. "I just want you to _talk_ to me, Crowley, because there's _so much_ I don't know. I know they've hurt you and scared you and I know you can't see in the dark anymore and I know you're hiding _so much_ from me, and it's _all right_ for you to hide if you need to, I just wish I knew how to help you... I just wish I knew _why..._"

"_He took my eyes_."

Aziraphale's eruption of frustrated emotion broke off abruptly at the sound of Crowley's hoarse, desperate whisper. His head was bowed, eyes down between them, haunted and focused on distant memory. His body trembled in Aziraphale's arms, still and unresistant to their gentle restraint.

"What?" Aziraphale shook his head slowly in horrified denial. "No, your eyes are fine, you…"

"Burned them out with holy water..." Crowley continued, quiet and carefully calm. "He… he healed them after, but… I reckon only my human eyesight ever came back. Like… the holy water scarred my… my _demonic_ self, but not…" He shook his head, blinking away tears.

"But… they still _look_…"

Crowley flinched, closing his eyes, and Aziraphale felt the hot rush of Crowley's _utter shame_ washing over him. He desperately regretted his unfinished statement, parted his lips to swiftly finish it before Crowley could supply his own ending for it.

_Breathtaking, stunning, they're _beautiful_, _you're_ beautiful, my love..._

But Crowley was already speaking again, his words shaky and tumbling over each other in a steadily rising rush. "He made sure they… s-stayed the same… s-so I wouldn't ever forget… what I am. Wouldn't ever forget, and… and look him in the eye, again, not supposed to, d-don't have the right..."

Aziraphale felt the increasingly familiar hot tremor in the pit of his stomach, protective fury rising up within him at the realization of what Gabriel had done. Crowley shivered, huddling in on himself a little, and Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, forced it back with an effort, softening his grip on his demon and stroking a hand gently up and down his arm.

"Crowley, that's not true, you have _every_ right, you shouldn't be ashamed of your eyes, my darling, they're…"

"I can't see in the dark anymore," Crowley continued, deliberately raising his voice to stop Aziraphale's unwelcome words of reassurance, as his own came out in an increasingly anxious, desperate rush. "And… in the dark, all I _can_ see is… is what he did, just like he was… d-doing it all over again, and… and I'm weak and useless and sh-shouldn't be s-so s-scared, but I can't help it, and I'm _covered_ with scars, angel, all over, they're hideous, I d-don't want you to… didn't want to sh-show you, but…" His hand tugged against Aziraphale's a little, his eyes darting down toward his shirt buttons again.

"_No_."

Aziraphale firmly held his hand, using his free hand to carefully tilt Crowley's face up toward him. Crowley's gaze faltered a couple of times before he managed to meet Aziraphale's eyes, and Aziraphale had the sinking realization that it was only because he knew that was what Aziraphale expected, what he _wanted_.

_How many times have I pushed him… no, _forced _him to look at me, to reveal his eyes? _Forced _him, because he doesn't understand that he can say no? He wasn't allowed to make eye contact, was punished for it, was _blinded_ for it… and I demand it of him at every turn. _

_God, no wonder he's bloody terrified._

He felt sick with horrified understanding that he'd _asked _for, hadn't he? But now it _hurt _so much he wasn't sure he wanted it after all.

Aziraphale shook his head a little at his own unintentionally cruel mistake, removing his hand from Crowley's face and instead placing it at the back of his head, gently encouraging him to rest his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, to hide his eyes if he wanted to - and he knew he'd made the right choice when Crowley gratefully complied, putting his free arm around Aziraphale and nestling in closer to him.

"Crowley... _this_ is all I want, just you and me together. That's all," Aziraphale assured him, soft and certain. "There doesn't have to be anything else. I only want you to do what you _want_ to do." Crowley was silent, but Aziraphale could feel him listening, so he continued, "I have always found your eyes… simply stunning, my darling. And I always will. And your scars cannot change how beautiful I find you. The only one who should bear shame for those scars is the one who inflicted them."

Crowley shivered a little, and Aziraphale took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment and with an effort steadying his focus on his fragile demon in his arms, and not the dark, vengeful thoughts pressing in around the edges of his consciousness.

"If you want to show me… I want to see," Aziraphale continued. Crowley tensed a little, so he quickly went on, quietly emphatic, "And if you _need to hide them_… I want you to have _what you need_. I do _not_ want you to do anything that you're not comfortable with, darling. I do not want you to show me until… until you _want_ to show me."

They were so close, so still, that Aziraphale could feel Crowley's heart racing, thudding against his own bare chest, could feel the heat of each shaky, panicked breath… could feel when those breaths began to slow, when Crowley gradually began to relax against him. When he tried again to free his hand, Aziraphale tensed - but all Crowley did was to wrap his arm around Aziraphale's neck, desperately pulling him closer.

"That's it, love," Aziraphale breathed out, relieved. "You're all right… you don't have to do anything. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, and you don't have to do anything at all but just _be here_ with me…"

Crowley just held on, fiercely, desperately tight. Finally, he lifted his face just enough to speak, without raising his head, his words hoarse and broken.

"I didn't want to lose you."

"You won't," Aziraphale promised.

Crowley hesitated, his words hushed and uncertain. "You… sh-shouldn't have to wait…"

Aziraphale's heart ached for him. "I'd wait forever for you, Crowley." He smiled sadly, kissing the top of the demon's head and reminding him softly, "You waited for me."

"I don't want to wait forever, either," Crowley admitted, sniffling. "And you shouldn't have to, but if I can't even take my bloody _clothes_ off…"

"You don't necessarily have to," Aziraphale pointed out, his tone lightly thoughtful. "Or you could, and I could, oh, I don't know… make love to you blindfolded," he suggested, cautiously teasing.

He was rewarded with a soft puff of breath, Crowley's near-silent laughter against his skin. And then, the laugh faded into a heart-rending, equally quiet sob. Aziraphale's smile faded, his own eyes burning with tears as he just held Crowley close, allowing him to feel what he felt and for once not trying to fix it. And at last he was rewarded as Crowley willingly raised his head, meeting Aziraphale's gaze with tearful golden eyes.

"I'd do anything you ask of me, angel," he whispered, fierce and desperate, a promise filled with so much _trust_ it took Aziraphale's breath. "_Anything_."

Aziraphale brushed his hair back from his face, kissed him softly on the cheek, kissing away his tears, and internally promising never to violate that promise, never to abuse that trust. He'd take whatever Crowley wanted to give him, and not ask for anything more. And if Crowley needed to hide… then he could hide himself in Aziraphale.

"I know you would, darling," he murmured, settling in and holding his demon close as Crowley tucked his head down against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh of relief. "I know."


	14. Chapter 14

_After that first time, Gabriel didn't force himself on Crowley _every_ time he returned to the cell. _

_At least half the time, he brought out the blade, or the whip, and asked his same, repetitive questions. But he did it in a tone that suggested he was only going through the motions at this point, and just supremely _bored_ by the whole thing. _

_When he'd had a little while to regain his composure, after that first time - Crowley had _utterly lost_ that composure again, panicked once he realized how much he'd given away. In his desperate pleading for Aziraphale's life, Crowley had accidentally confirmed to Gabriel that there was a relationship between them, that they were far more than adversaries. _

_Crowley felt a ridiculous amount of relief the next time Gabriel came into the cell… pulling out the blessed whip and demanding once again that he confess. _

_Apparently, Crowley's tears and pleas on the angel's behalf were still not quite enough evidence to convict him. Perhaps Gabriel needed more than just proof that Crowley cared about Aziraphale. Perhaps he also needed confirmation that _Aziraphale _cared about _Crowley_. _

_Perhaps Crowley's broken, desperate words were simply useless to the archangel - inadmissible, somehow - given the circumstances under which he'd heard them. He didn't seem to want anyone to know what he'd done, so perhaps he couldn't risk reporting Crowley's desperate half-confession, without also having to explain the circumstances under which he'd obtained it. _

_Crowley didn't know. _

_But he knew that Gabriel _knew_ now. _

_Beyond all doubt. _

_And they both already knew how it was going to end, every time - with Gabriel leaving, unsatisfied, and Crowley lying broken and bleeding on the floor._

_It was when Gabriel _didn't_ ask his questions… didn't even mention Aziraphale's name… that Crowley knew what was coming. _

_These visits… Gabriel had _no intention_ of leaving unsatisfied. _

_Gabriel's strong hands slid over Crowley's bare skin, exploring his body with a leisured, unhurried touch, manipulating him into whatever position Gabriel wanted him. Gabriel took his time. Crowley was utterly at his mercy - and the archangel was merciless. It didn't matter if he fought, or cried, or pleaded. His tears, his pleas only seemed to fuel Gabriel's pleasure - except for when they pissed him off, and earned the demon a sharp slap, or worse. His blind, weak attempts to defend himself were useless, and only resulted in Gabriel becoming angry and vindictively violent, making Crowley pay for every desperate, instinctive effort._

_So bit by bit, disheartened and defeated, Crowley stopped fighting. Nothing about this was _easy_, but it was _easier _to do as Gabriel said, give him what he wanted so he'd finish sooner and be gone… until the next time. He couldn't stop his tears, couldn't always hold back the pleading words that rose to his trembling lips - but Crowley tried to follow Gabriel's commands. _

"_Turn around." _

"_On your knees." _

"_Face to the floor, you worthless demon slut." _

_And then, one time - soft, almost gentle. "Show me your wings, sweetheart…" _

_Crowley was on his knees, shivering, waiting, as Gabriel circled him, predatory, taking his time deciding what to do with him this time. His choice made Crowley's stomach clench, a cold knot of dread coiling in his chest. The entire time he'd been here, his wings had remained hidden. He'd assumed that was a line that even Gabriel was unwilling to cross - but it was becoming increasingly clear. _

_Such a line did not exist._

"_What?" He shook his head in horrified indignation. "No!" _

_The back of Gabriel's hand across his face stole Crowley's breath, and was followed by searing pain in his scalp as Gabriel grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back, snarling into his ear, low and dangerous. "What did you just say to me?" _

"_I'm s-sorry," Crowley gasped out, his heart racing. "Please, just… please don't…"_

"_I can make you." Gabriel's voice was cold, unyielding. "And if I have to make you, Crowley, you know it's gonna be _so much worse_." _

_Crowley knew that it was the truth. In this room, Crowley was powerless. Gabriel could do just about anything he wanted to do to him. He could have him bound in painful, humiliating positions with a simple snap of his fingers. He'd had no trouble forcing him to keep his eyes open, or forcing him not to move. Crowley had little doubt that the archangel could force his wings to manifest, drag them out of the spiritual realm and into their physical form._

_Gabriel was _going_ to get his hands on Crowley's wings, one way or another. _

_Crowley would rather Gabriel _not_ be supremely pissed off with him when he did. _

_Choked with panic already, Crowley obeyed and manifested his wings. _

"_Please," he whispered immediately, cold dread settling in his chest. "Please, d-don't…" _

_His words broke off abruptly in a startled yelp as Gabriel grabbed the back of his neck hard, holding him still while he pressed a series of buttons on the collar. Alarmed, Crowley braced himself for pain, feeling a sense of betrayal. _

But I did what you said, I did it!

_No pain came. _

_At least - not from the collar. _

_Gabriel's hands were cruel and greedy and grasping, yanking at Crowley's wings while he violated him, twisting viciously, handfuls of feathers ripping loose between his fingers as Gabriel pounded into Crowley's weary, bruised body. _

"_Please," Crowley cried out in anguish. "Please…" _

"_Shut up." _

_Gabriel punctuated the breathless, muttered command with a hard blow from his fist at the base of Crowley's left wing, hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs and send electric streaks of agony all down the length of the abused limb. Moments before he reached his completion, Gabriel pulled out of Crowley, stood up - and released it across Crowley's wings instead. Humiliated, Crowley lowered his face into his hands, struggling to stifle the sobs that rose up in his throat. Gabriel moved around to crouch in front of him, slapping Crowley's hands away from his face and grabbing his jaw, forcing his head back up. _

"_Now you look like exactly what you are," he informed Crowley softly, reaching a hand over the demon's shoulder to run gently down the upper edge of his wing, and Crowley shivered, resisting the urge to pull away. "A disgusting, filthy little demon whore." His grip tightened around the ridge of bone that ran down the length of Crowley's wing, and he pulled Crowley closer to him, leaning in to speak quietly next to his ear. "But you're _my_ little demon whore, Crowley. Your wings stay out. Until _I_ put them away again. Because I fucking _own_ you. And _I_ decide what happens to you. Right?" _

_Crowley's heart sank. Despite the agony and shame of the assault, he hadn't dared attempt to hide his wings - but now he understood what Gabriel had done to the collar. He knew that if he tried to hide them, now, he would find it impossible. _

"_Answer me." _

_Gabriel's voice was warning, impatient, and Crowley's mind raced to remember the question. At last he nodded, tears spilling from his eyes, tears of shame and defeat. "Right," he whispered, the word muffled by Gabriel's painful grip on his jaw. _

_Gabriel released him roughly and stalked out of the cell without another word, leaving Crowley surrounded by Gabriel's scent, the stain soaking into his aching wings. _

_The next time Gabriel entered the cell - he used the door. Crowley heard it close behind him, and his heart stuttered in his chest, a cold, sick sensation of fear settling over him. _

_Gabriel stayed near the door. "Come here," he commanded. _

_Crowley struggled to his feet, wincing with the pain of his ravaged and torn body and wings. He hesitated, unsure of Gabriel's intentions. _

"_I said come here." Gabriel's voice was quiet and cold. "You don't want me to say it again." _

_Crowley closed most of the distance between them swiftly, and flinched but managed to not resist when Gabriel grabbed his arm and jerked him the rest of the way. Gabriel said nothing, but after a moment he let go of him, and Crowley stood there trembling, braced for whatever awful thing was in store for him next. He tensed when he felt Gabriel's hand come near his face, almost but not quite touching - and then, felt the healing warmth of his grace as it passed from the archangel into Crowley's body, his wings, his eyes…._

His eyes_. _

_Crowley's breath caught in his throat as his vision returned all at once - bright and intense and momentarily overwhelming. He blinked as his newly formed eyes adjusted, and he steadied himself, his vision coming into focus on Gabriel. For a long moment Crowley stared up at the archangel in bewildered disbelief, searching his face for some explanation. _

_Gabriel glared at him, his mouth tight with angry disapproval - and all at once Crowley remembered why his sight had been taken from him in the first place. _

_He instantly lowered his gaze, taking a hasty step backward - but Gabriel moved with him, caught his arm and jerked him forward, roughly halting his retreat. He laughed softly, his free hand running through Crowley's hair before gripping it tight, holding him immobile in his grasp. _

"_You actually think you can _get away_, sweetheart?" _

"_No," Crowley whispered, closing his eyes, shaking his head as best he could. "No, I kn-know I can't…"_

"_Good." Gabriel's tone was patronizingly patient. "Now, remind me, Crowley… why was it that I took your eyes in the first place?" _

"_I'm s-sorry," Crowley whispered, the words broken and quaking, panic stealing his breath, his eyes tightly shut. "I didn't mean to, it was an accident, _please_…" _

_The last word broke off sharply as Gabriel abruptly turned and shoved Crowley back against the wall beside the door. His wings crushed against the cold stone, Gabriel's body close in front of him, Crowley felt suffocated. He kept his eyes closed the entire time. If he didn't open his eyes, he couldn't risk further pissing off the archangel by accidentally making eye contact again._

_Gabriel apparently had other ideas. _

"_Open your eyes," he demanded. _

_Keeping his gaze desperately downcast, Crowley forced himself to obey - and his heart clenched painfully in his chest when he saw the tip of Gabriel's blessed blade, an inch from his eye. He choked back a whimper at the hot sting of it as it brushed his cheek, bit down on his lip to stifle the pleas that rose in his throat. _

"_I've only just given you your eyes _back_, Crowley," Gabriel pointed out, soft and mocking. "Am I gonna have to take them again already? I don't need holy water to take them." _

"_No," Crowley whispered. A tear slid slowly down his face, stopping when it hit the blade. "No, please… I didn't mean to…" _

"_You've had them back for five seconds, and you're already breaking the rules." _

"_I'm sorry," Crowley sobbed. "I'm sorry…"_

"_Speaking without permission. Trying to get away from me. Looking me in the eye, like you're my fucking equal…" Gabriel spat out his accusations, the blade tighter against Crowley's burning skin. "What do you think I ought to do about that?" _

_Before Crowley could answer, he abruptly removed the blade, taking a step back as he released Crowley's arm, and the demon stumbled a little, gasping, bracing himself with his hands flat against the wall behind him. _

_Soft, leading, Gabriel amended his words. "What do you think _you_ ought to do?" _

_Crowley instantly dropped to his knees on the cold stone. "I'm sorry," he repeated, over and over, shaking, desperate. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" _

_Gabriel crouched down facing him, at his level, and Crowley kept his eyes carefully focused on his perfect leather shoes. "I've just given you a gift, Crowley," he reminded him. "You want to keep it?" _

_Crowley nodded frantically. "Y-yes, yes, please…" _

"_Then what do you say?" _

_It took Crowley a moment, but then he caught on. "Th-thank you?" he whispered, then again with more certainty. "Thank you. For… for letting me see again. For my eyes." _

_Gabriel just watched him for a long moment, and Crowley's heart raced with panic. Surely he hadn't already fucked up so badly that he was going to lose his vision _again_ after just getting it back. _

Stupid, worthless little slut, it's all your fault, can't do anything right…

_And then, Gabriel carefully put away the blade, regarding Crowley in silence for a moment before reaching out with a gentle hand to cup his cheek. Crowley kept still, unresisting, as Gabriel's thumb traced across his face, wiping the tears from beneath his perfectly restored, golden eyes. _

"_See, that's so much better, sweetheart," he said, approving, almost warm. "Now you're starting to learn. And I don't have to hurt you." Crowley nearly collapsed with relief as Gabriel stood, remaining there a moment over him, stroking his hair like one might pet an obedient dog. "We're going to get along so much better now... aren't we?" _

Crowley wasn't sure it was a good idea to begin with.

"I'm supposed to be your prisoner," he reminded Aziraphale as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching the angel get dressed in his favorite dinner jacket. "You're not even supposed to _like_ me. We can't be seen going out on _dates_!"

"It's not a date," Aziraphale insisted, slightly flustered. "At least, not from their perspective. It's - a meal. Of the sort that I often enjoy completely on my own," he pointed out, turning away from the mirror and closing the distance between them. "You just… happen to be coming along with me for this one. I can't very well leave you unattended at home while I go, can I? If anyone questions it, it's a perfectly valid explanation." Aziraphale sat down on the edge of the bed next to Crowley, slipping his arm around his waist and leaning in to kiss him lightly, his eyes twinkling as he confessed in a stage whisper, "But it's _absolutely_ a date."

His excitement was infectious, and Crowley rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Oh, all right. Fine. Can't say I'll mind spending time within four walls that aren't… _these_ four walls."

"Or getting to drive," Aziraphale pointed out.

"There's that," Crowley agreed with a grudging grin.

This time he wasn't worn out from too many miracles, and Crowley did enjoy the drive to a quiet, romantically lit little Italian restaurant on the other side of the city. It was a place they had never been before, but Aziraphale had read positive reviews, which turned out to be reasonably accurate.

The food was good, the wine was better, and the romantic setting was far more enticing than Crowley would have ever admitted. His wings were finally safely tucked away… the low lighting meant that no one seemed to notice the collar around his neck… and Aziraphale was positively relishing the first meal he'd had in a couple of weeks that he hadn't prepared himself.

"I'm so glad we did this."

Aziraphale's voice was soft, as he reached out across the table with one hand - stopping a few inches short of Crowley's hand where it rested, but biting his lip and giving Crowley a warm, mischievous smile. Crowley returned it, glancing ruefully down at the space between their fingers. He understood; this date could not appear to be a date, just in case. If he couldn't exactly reach out across the table and hold his angel's hand, well… the sparkling promise in Aziraphale's eyes was enough for the moment.

He could wait.

They lingered over the meal for about an hour. Aziraphale was just finishing his entree, and Crowley was halfway through his second glass of wine. He found that his suspicions about his human-ish constitution had been correct, as even on such a small amount, he felt a pleasant thrum of warmth and relaxation. He felt calm and happy, just enjoying a perfect evening out with his angel.

And then, in an instant it all fell to pieces.

"Hey, Aziraphale."

Gabriel appeared directly between them at their table, snapping his fingers and miracling himself up a chair and sitting down. Immediately Crowley's pleasant little buzz vanished, swallowed up in a cold wash of fear.

"You are a hard angel to track down, you know that?" Gabriel remarked to Aziraphale, casual, more good-natured teasing than genuinely put out. "Stopped by your shop and you weren't there." His gaze turned on Crowley, and Crowley's heart stopped for a moment, his eyes instantly locked onto the small floral arrangement in the middle of the table. Still, he could see the disapproving look Gabriel gave him. "You're feeding it, now?"

"Well, I do occasionally have to eat," Aziraphale pointed out, his tone remarkably calm.

"No." Gabriel gave him a pointed look. "You really don't."

"I like to," Aziraphale amended. "And I can't exactly leave my charge alone, now, can I? According to human customs, it would be found very odd if I were to purchase a meal for myself, and not one for my… dinner companion; therefore, he eats when I do."

Gabriel frowned as if the concept was a difficult one, before finally nodding slowly. "I guess that makes sense, in a weird, stupid, human-ish way." He waved a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes. "You should know, you spend way more time around humans than I ever do, thank God."

The archangel's presence - just a couple of feet away from Crowley, well within reach - made Crowley feel sick. And when he felt Gabriel's hand slip under the tablecloth, out of Aziraphale's eye line, and close firmly around his leg - Crowley deeply regretted the wine and the few bits of food he'd ingested, as they abruptly threatened to make a reappearance.

He kept perfectly still, knew better than to pull away or show any response at all. He was desperately grateful for his sunglasses, because he was sure the overwhelming panic he was feeling _had_ to be spilling over in his eyes. He bit the inside of his lip, fighting back the wave of nausea as Gabriel slowly slid his hand a little higher, his thumb brushing the inside of Crowley's thigh, while he continued to speak calmly with Aziraphale as if nothing was happening.

"So, still going well? Any problems with the new collar settings?"

"No, none at all," Aziraphale assured him. "It's gone quite smoothly." Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, and Crowley could see the concern in his eyes, behind his cool demeanor for Gabriel's benefit. He was trying to gauge how Crowley was handling this intrusion, wanted to know if he was all right.

Crowley just stayed quiet and still, praying the conversation would end.

He'd only be all right once Gabriel was _gone_.

But then, Gabriel was looking at _him _again_… _frowning, critical.

"Collar's set a little low, isn't it?"

"Not for a public setting," Aziraphale insisted. "I don't want the wretched thing racked with pain all through dinner. He'd draw attention. Anyway, he's behaving himself. He knows if he doesn't, that could change in an instant, don't you, Crowley?" He patted the pocket of his jacket meaningfully.

"Yes," Crowley whispered, barely audible, not lifting his gaze.

He was fairly certain the remote control for the collar wasn't anywhere on Aziraphale's person.

Gabriel's expression remained skeptical and disapproving as he looked back at Crowley again. Crowley's heart raced, and he kept his head lowered, eyes down. His entire body felt as if it would vibrate apart with nerves, and his stomach plummeted when Gabriel reached toward his face and removed his glasses, setting them down on the table in front of Aziraphale.

"Aziraphale, you indulge it too much," he remarked. "There's no need for these, indoors, at night. It's not as if the humans can see what it is, anyway, and if it's ashamed of those creepy demon eyes, well - it should be."

Crowley kept his gaze focused on the centerpiece, afraid to look up at all. Looking at Gabriel was completely out of the question, for obvious reasons. Looking at Aziraphale was also risky; he wasn't sure what Gabriel might catch between them, even in a wordless exchange.

He wasn't sure what _Aziraphale_ might see in his eyes.

Aziraphale's tone was taut, clipped - the way Crowley knew he sounded when he was very angry, but trying hard not to show it. His words were carefully measured when he responded to Gabriel's criticism.

"Shame of his demonic nature should be encouraged, should it not?" he pointed out. "If he's ashamed and wants to attempt to appear more human…"

"But he's _not_ human," Gabriel cut him off, his eyes locked onto Crowley, disgust coloring his words, even as his hand slid up higher between Crowley's legs. "He should never be allowed to forget… _what he is_."

Crowley couldn't bear it. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

"Well, I certainly don't need the constant reminder," Aziraphale snapped. "Maybe the humans can't see it, but I can - and I'd rather not. I prefer to keep my appetite for my meal, thank you."

The words were cruel, but Crowley knew better than to believe them. He knew how Aziraphale really felt about his eyes; couldn't possibly miss it, as frequently as Aziraphale made considerable effort to catch a glimpse of them. Aziraphale _had_ to say these things, had to try to throw Gabriel off track. He had to say things that would shock him, things he would never think Aziraphale would say to someone he loved. He had to convince the archangel that he didn't care about Crowley's comfort or his shame - much less his _feelings_.

Crowley understood.

He'd accept all manner of cruel words from Aziraphale, if it just meant that Gabriel would _go away_.

"At any rate, he's my charge. It's my choice, isn't it? Leave him be."

Crowley cringed inwardly, panic edging in, his mouth dry, heart racing.

_No, don't, don't do that, don't tell him what to do, don't give him orders, he doesn't like that, he'll be angry…_

"Fine," Gabriel sighed. "Have it your way." He shrugged.

Then he leaned a little closer to Crowley, taking the opportunity to properly grope him under the tablecloth as he studied him for a moment. Crowley bit down on his lower lip, struggling to maintain his composure, forcing his expression to stillness even as Gabriel's hand squeezed roughly between his legs. Finally, Gabriel removed his hand from Crowley's lap, picking up the sunglasses as he rose from the table and leaned in a little more than was necessary to place them carefully back on Crowley's face.

His voice was quiet, private, just outside of Aziraphale's hearing.

"_I miss your wings, sweetheart_…"

That was it. A shudder passed through Crowley; he wasn't going to be able to keep it together. And then in an instant, Gabriel was gone, chair and all - and Crowley's composure broke. He let out his breath in a rush, gasping, hiding his face in one hand, choking back a sob. He flinched when Aziraphale reached across the table toward his free hand, but then let him take it.

"What did he say to you?" Aziraphale demanded, all protective fury, glaring at the spot where Gabriel had just been.

Crowley couldn't speak, only shook his head, struggling just to draw breath. Aziraphale scooted his own chair closer to Crowley's so that they were side by side, and slid his arm around him.

"_No_," Crowley gasped, shaking his head, unable to bring himself to look up at Aziraphale. "Not - not here…"

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and then Crowley heard him speak, though not to him.

"Please cancel our dessert order, my dear, terribly sorry," he said, his tone tense enough to border on impolite. "Just the check, please."

They were in the Bentley in minutes, though Crowley didn't think he could have made it there if not for Aziraphale's steadying arm around him, supporting him. As soon as the car doors closed behind them, Crowley rested his head on the steering wheel, gasping for breath. He could barely think. All he could hear was the pounding of his own blood in his ears. All he could focus on was the feeling of Gabriel's hands on him again, freely touching as if he owned him, as if Crowley was a possession that he could play with as he chose.

_He does. You are. _

"Take your time, darling..." Aziraphale's voice reached him, muffled and distorted as if from underwater, and the angel reached out a tentative hand to rest on Crowley's thigh.

Crowley's stomach rebelled, and he barely managed to get the car door open before throwing up into the street.

Aziraphale rubbed his back, making soothing, sympathetic sounds, until Crowley had caught his breath and closed the door again, leaning his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry, angel," he gasped. "Sorry…"

"No, my dear, _I'm_ sorry," Aziraphale sighed. "It was not my wish to have you cross paths with Gabriel again like this. We should have stayed home."

"Can't stay home forever," Crowley pointed out, despondent. "Can't hide forever. Can't hide at all. He said he stopped by the bookshop."

"What did he say to you, Crowley?" Aziraphale repeated, and Crowley could feel his careful, searching gaze on him.

Crowley just shook his head, looking out the window. "I-I don't want to... "

"All right," Aziraphale conceded easily, reaching out to take Crowley's shaking hand. "It's all right, Crowley, he's gone. You're safe…"

Crowley choked back a bitter laugh, blinking back tears.

"I'm sorry for those things _I_ said, darling. I hope you know I didn't mean them at all. I just wanted to hurry him on his way. You know that, right? I don't ever wish you to hide your eyes - certainly not in shame of their natural quality. They're _beautiful_, my love. _You're_ beautiful."

It actually took Crowley a moment to remember what Aziraphale was talking about. His fake insults for Gabriel's benefit were the least of Crowley's concerns. He was far more concerned with the phantom touch of Gabriel's hand he could still feel between his legs… the memory of cruel hands, pinning him down, tearing at his body… at his _wings…_

He looked down at Aziraphale's hand, still resting innocently on his thigh. He swallowed back a fresh wave of nausea. He could still feel Gabriel's hand there… could still feel the sick corruption of his touch. And now _Aziraphale_ was touching him there, and it wasn't the same, didn't feel the same... except in the ways that it _did_, and Crowley did _not_ want to associate Aziraphale's touch with Gabriel's.

"I must tell you, Crowley," Aziraphale was speaking again, soft and earnest. "When he took your glasses from you tonight, how desperately I wanted to snatch them away from him and give them back to you. Among… other things I also wanted to do." He cleared his throat, a little self-conscious. "At any rate… I think I'm beginning to understand what they mean to you, why that - is not in any way an acceptable thing to do. And yet, I _have _done it. Several times."

He reached up to turn Crowley's face toward him, but carefully did not touch his glasses. Crowley reluctantly looked up at him behind the dark lenses, but was surprised to see that Aziraphale's eyes were averted slightly, his expression cautious and respectful. He wanted Crowley to see him, but he was not demanding the right to see Crowley.

"I need you to know, I _promise_ you, darling… I won't ever do that to you again, not ever."

And Crowley felt a tremendous rush of relief, tears springing to his eyes. Aziraphale's hand at his cheek was careful to the point of reverence, not forcing, not insisting - a promise of patience and respect.

It _wasn't_ the same.

Crowley reached up and took off the glasses, and Aziraphale startled a little at seeing them in Crowley's hand, looking up to meet Crowley's eyes, his own wide and wondering.

"Thank you," Crowley whispered, turning in his seat and leaning forward into Aziraphale, who put his arms around him and held him close. "Thanks, angel."

Soft, warm arms that didn't grab and wrench and force him into whatever position they desired - that simply waited for Crowley to come to him, and then wrapped around him, strong but gentle, protective not possessive. Aziraphale's lips against his face were soft and chaste, not hungry and demanding.

It wasn't the same _at all_.

They stayed there for as long as they dared, still and quiet in the darkness as Crowley's racing heartbeat slowed back to normal, and he began to feel calm enough to drive them home. But the sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and stayed there - the cold, creeping fear, the persistent thought in the back of his head…

_He could be there when we get home…_

_He could be anywhere, anytime._

Crowley swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment, and shuddering at the slow, predatory smile he saw behind them.

_You'll never… _ever_… get away from me…_


	15. Chapter 15

Over the days that followed, Crowley couldn't seem to shake the slowly creeping sense of dread that rose up in him, in the wake of Gabriel's intrusion.

While Aziraphale redoubled his studies, more determined than ever to find something that would help, poring over his books and consulting the manual every half hour or so when a new question would occur to him - Crowley couldn't seem to make himself focus on anything. He sat with Aziraphale on the sofa for a little while, until his incessant fidgeting pulled a very small, very soft little sigh from his angel, and he got up and left him to it.

The time had been when Crowley would have rather enjoyed getting under Aziraphale's skin, irritating him for the pleasure of it and - well, if he was really honest with himself, for the attention. Now, the idea of being an annoyance to Aziraphale made him feel cold and uneasy.

He was enough of a burden as it was, without adding to it. Best not to press his luck.

Crowley spent a little time tending to his plant in the kitchen. It wasn't really doing very well. It had once had small purple flowers, but now its leaves were unadorned, and browning a little at the edges again. Crowley took his glasses off and set them on the counter, peering at it with an accusing frown.

"Useless thing," he muttered.

But he sprayed it down generously anyway, and then after turning to leave the room, turned back around instead with a put-upon sigh. He touched its fragile leaves and closed his eyes and focused his energy, and gave it a grudging half-smile as the wilted leaves turned fresh and vibrant again.

A crash, the sound of shattering glass from the next room, made Crowley's heart seize up as he spun toward it, and the sound of Aziraphale's soft voice, cursing quietly before trailing off.

"Bloody…"

Crowley went to the doorway, relief flooding him when he saw that Aziraphale was alone in the room, and the breaking sound was nothing more than a ruined teacup, surrounded by its former contents, on the floor next to the coffee table.

"I'll get it," Crowley offered hurriedly, swiftly crossing the room to the mess and crouching down on the floor to pick up the shattered pieces and collect them in one hand.

"No, no, that's all right…"

"I've got it," Crowley insisted. "Here, I'll just toss this out and get a towel…" But as he rose to his feet, his head spun and he stumbled a little, his hand closing a little too tightly around the bits of broken cup.

"_Crowley_!" Aziraphale's tone was one of mingled concern and reproach. "Your _hand_, dear!"

Crowley blinked down at it, feeling a little hazy, vaguely surprised to see his blood mingled with the tea that stained the white porcelain.

"Come here, darling," Aziraphale instructed, putting an arm around Crowley and swiftly leading him into the kitchen, where he disposed of the glass and ran Crowley's hand under the tap, rinsing away the tiny remaining shards and blood and tea alike. "Ah, that's not so bad," he remarked, examining the cut now that he could see it clearly. "Not bad at all, just hold this on it for a moment, there we are…" He pressed a clean towel to the wound and gently placed Crowley's hand over it.

Crowley complied with Aziraphale's instructions, glaring at his little plant, green and shining in the window.

"This is all _your_ fault."

Aziraphale looked up at him, startled, and then a little hurt. "Yes, I suppose it is," he sighed. "Clumsy of me, and I might have saved it if I wasn't so concerned with keeping it from spilling on my book, and… oh. Oh, you're not speaking to _me_, are you?" He noticed at last where Crowley's resentful gaze was focused, and then the condition of the formerly failing plant. He let out an exasperated, affectionate little huff. "Crowley, my dear, whatever healing energy you have at the moment should be directed toward yourself, not toward a plant!"

"I agree." Crowley glared one more time at the plant for good measure, as Aziraphale steered him back toward the living area. "_Unworthy_…" he hissed at it over his shoulder.

When they returned to the sofa, Aziraphale moved the scattered books and made a place for Crowley to sit down. Then he pulled the towel away to look at the cut again - not too deep, still bleeding sluggishly. A human might have debated whether or not it needed stitches. Aziraphale glanced around a little guiltily, as if someone might be watching, before quickly running his hand across the cut, which swiftly vanished in its wake.

"_Aziraphale_!" Crowley yanked his hand out of Aziraphale's gentle grasp, horrified. "You can't!"

"Certainly I can, and have done. Too late now," Aziraphale argued, defensive. "It's such a tiny little miracle, it'll barely register on Heaven's radar at all…"

"We're on _his_ radar," Crowley snapped. "In case you hadn't noticed, he's most definitely paying attention."

"So I did it for my own convenience," Aziraphale suggested, putting his arm around Crowley's stiff shoulders and pulling him back with him against the sofa as he settled in. "I can hardly have you bleeding all over my books, now, can I?"

Reluctant, still feeling very unsettled and anxious, Crowley settled back against Aziraphale's chest. "We can't afford to draw any more of his attention," he whispered. "_Please_, angel, just… we've got to be _careful_."

"I'm sorry." Aziraphale's voice was soft, repentant, as he took Crowley's hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss across his knuckles. "I didn't mean to alarm you, my dear. But - he can't do what he did - just, _show up_ like that - here. You know that, right? Our alarm system is in place. The spell recognizes us both as residents here, as _belonging_ here, and if any angel or demon comes within a block, we'll both instantly know. He can't catch us by surprise, _here_."

Crowley nodded, silent. Aziraphale had said as much repeatedly over the past few days, offering near-constant reassurance of Crowley's safety here in the bookshop - but Crowley wasn't so sure.

It seemed to him that whatever Gabriel wanted, he somehow found a way to get it.

"He showed up to scare you," Aziraphale said, leaning forward and resting his chin on Crowley's shoulder, his fingers interlaced with Crowley's and resting on Crowley's chest. "To make you feel… unsafe. But he didn't actually _do_ anything."

Crowley swallowed slowly against the ache in the back of his throat, and didn't correct him.

"I don't think he dares, right now, since he's publicly agreed that you're my responsibility," Aziraphale guessed. "And if you noticed, he _did_ seem to accept my explanation about the collar being set so low. I think perhaps we should spend a bit more time down in the shop for a while. If he does turn up, and you're working about the shop, well, that's a perfectly good reason for the collar to be turned down, isn't it?"

Crowley couldn't shake the image of Gabriel, glaring at him in disgust across the table.

"He's not going to like it," he whispered.

Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss against Crowley's jawline, his voice low and measured, with an unmistakable edge to it.

"I don't give a damn what he likes."

Crowley shivered a little, though he wasn't exactly sure why. It was a little frightening, yeah, to hear Aziraphale talk that way about Gabriel. Gabriel was dangerous, more than Aziraphale realized. He was _powerful_. But when Aziraphale spoke like this - his loyalty to Heaven, his obedience, overpowered by the quiet ferocity of his protective, righteous anger - it reminded Crowley of something that was easy to forget when surrounded with his angel's softness and warmth.

_Aziraphale_ was powerful, too.

In his arms like this, it was easy to forget about the threat of the archangel looming over them.

It was easy to feel _safe_.

"You're busy," Crowley murmured, reluctant to move, but not wanting to further annoy Aziraphale with his neediness. "You've been working. Got better things to do."

"There is nothing I'd rather do than you, dear," Aziraphale replied, squeezing his hand gently.

Crowley couldn't suppress a smirk. "That so," he drawled, turning to look at Aziraphale, eagerly anticipating his adorable embarrassment when he realized what he'd said. "Nothing you'd rather _do_… than _me_?"

Aziraphale's eyes widened in momentary surprised understanding - but he did not blush or stammer. Rather, his smile became warmer, and he took the opportunity to lean in and kiss Crowley's lips softly, before drawing back to meet his eyes.

"Nothing on this earth, or any other," he declared.

If Crowley hadn't already felt lightheaded and dizzy, he would have been now. He fairly melted in Aziraphale's arms, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek and return his kiss. Aziraphale let out a little hum of pleasure, his free hand sliding along Crowley's side, and Crowley was sure, quite by accident, under the hem of his shirt. The sensation of Aziraphale's warm, soft hand against his skin made him shiver, and he pushed in closer, deepening the kiss - just as Aziraphale broke it with a little gasp, drawing his hand back.

"Sorry, sorry, my dear," he whispered.

But Crowley caught his hand and firmly placed it right back where it'd been. He swallowed slowly, his lip caught between his teeth for a moment before he whispered back.

"Don't be."

And he leaned in to kiss his angel again.

Crowley parked the Bentley at the curb outside his building, glancing around a little anxiously as he got out and closed the door. Aziraphale's expression was sympathetic, and he quickly fell into pace at Crowley's side, though he didn't take his hand. He moved in close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other, though, and leaned in to speak quietly.

"We'll be as quick as we can, and then back to the shop. It'll be all right, love."

Crowley nodded curtly, his mouth a taut line. This trip was his idea, anyway - but now he was rethinking the idea of stepping outside of the relatively safe walls of the bookshop, where at least they would have a warning if Gabriel decided to pay them a visit. But he was out of clean shirts, and it wasn't as if Aziraphale either owned the equipment necessary to do laundry, or could be seen to be _paying_ for the laundry of his demon captive to be professionally done.

He needed more clothes, and if he were truly honest about it, he wanted a new pair of sunglasses - a pair that Gabriel hadn't handled. He could hardly put this pair on without remembering the brush of Gabriel's fingers against his cheek as he'd placed them back on his face in the restaurant.

They worked quickly, Crowley packing a box full of various gardening supplies, extra misters, soil, fertilizer and plant food. He glanced regretfully at his abandoned plants, mostly dead by this point. He considered taking them with him, but who was he kidding, really? He barely had the energy and ability to care for his one, single little rescued plant. He sighed as he passed the box to Aziraphale, who smiled and kissed his cheek before heading to the door.

Crowley picked up his empty black satchel and headed for his bedroom, where he filled it up with whatever items of clothing remained in his dresser and cupboards. That done, he carried the bag back out to his office, where he took the sunglasses from his face and crushed them in his hand before tossing their remains into the empty wastebasket next to the desk. He heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside his door, as he opened the small drawer with his extra pairs, tucking all but one into the side pocket of his satchel, and putting the remaining pair on.

"Think I'm ready, angel," he said, as he turned toward the sound of footsteps that had just stopped at the doorway to his office - and froze.

"No one's called me 'angel' in millennia," Hastur sneered as he slowly walked into the room, hands in his pockets, giving Crowley a slow, derisive once-over. "A lot of demons have been spending a lot of valuable demon-hours looking for you lately," he informed him.

"Yeah, well, can't say Hell's been my priority," Crowley breezed, glancing uneasily toward the doorway, wondering if he could get to it - wondering when Aziraphale would reappear there. "Been a bit busy."

He took a side-step away from the desk, closer to the door - but Hastur moved with him, blocking his path. "I can see that," he remarked, his black eyes darting between the collar, and Crowley's face. He grinned, maliciously gleeful. "Busy becoming Heaven's bitch, looks like."

Crowley swallowed hard. "Let me pass, Hastur," he demanded quietly. "You've no business here."

"_You're_ my business here," Hastur countered, still blocking Crowley's path when he tried again to leave. "Wonder what that pretty piece of jewelry will do when we pass the gates of Hell?" His grin widened. "Can't wait to find out." He reached out and grabbed Crowley's arm.

Crowley jerked away from Hastur, and then moved his arm to shove him away. Immediately, the collar halted the attempt, firing with enough force to drive him to his knees. Gasping for breath, his head spinning, Crowley closed his eyes and leaned back against the side of his desk.

"Oh, _this_ is interesting," Hastur remarked, his eyes widening, his smile taking on a leering quality. "Looks like you're more of _everyone's_ bitch, aren't you? Well, isn't _that_ fun."

His tone sparked a deep-seated panic in Crowley, and he hastily tried to get his feet under him, his heart racing when Hastur easily pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder.

"No, no, no, don't get up," he said, false concern fading into malicious intent as he caught Crowley's shirt in his bony fingers and dragged him closer, Crowley's face uncomfortably close to his crotch. "I think you're fine right where you are…"

Crowley's pulse was pounding, a crushing weight of panic in his chest suffocating him, as Hastur loomed over him, cruelly relishing his fear. And then in an instant, Hastur was gone, flung across the room and into the far wall, the picture that hung there falling off on top of him as he hit it with a spectacular crash. And Aziraphale was standing there in his place, breathing hard, staring down at Crowley for just long enough to apparently be satisfied that he was all right, before refocusing his attention on the demon sprawled on the floor across the room.

His pace was unhurried as he closed in on the demon, his eyes blazing, fiery power glowing just under the surface of his palms. His voice was low and authoritative, and made Crowley shiver.

"You _will not_ touch him."

"Oh, all right," Hastur sneered, clambering awkwardly in an attempt to get his feet back under him. "So, yours, then."

"Yes, _mine_, then!" Aziraphale snapped, fiercely protective.

"Your what, exactly?" Hastur demanded in disgust, his derisive glare finding Crowley over Aziraphale's shoulder as Crowley used the desk to get back onto his feet.

But Crowley wasn't the least bit afraid anymore. Not with his angel - his fierce, powerful, _awesome_ in the truest sense of the word angel - _angel of the eastern gate, guardian of Eden, holy warrior -_ standing between him and anyone who sought to harm him.

"My prisoner."

Aziraphale declared his answer to Hastur's question, and Crowley wasn't bothered. He knew Aziraphale was protecting him. To confirm Hell's suspicions about their relationship would only double the power of the target that was already firmly on Crowley's back. At least if Hell thought Crowley was imprisoned by Heaven, their side at least would leave him alone for a while.

"Yeah," Hastur observed, disbelieving. "He really looks like he's here, in his own bloody flat, against his will. If he's a prisoner, I'm…"

"Whatever he is, he's _mine_!" Aziraphale snarled, swiftly closing the remaining distance between himself and Hastur, who stumbled hastily backward into the wall, eyes wide and panicked. "And _you will not touch him_."

Holy golden light poured from Aziraphale's mouth with his words, glowed all around his hands, shone from his eyes. He was all power and fire and wrath ready to be poured out - but Crowley was unafraid.

Crowley was entranced.

Hastur's hands scrabbled against the wall as he tried to shift towards the door, and he let out a pathetic, terrified squeak when Aziraphale blocked his path with a hand that glowed with Heavenly power. Aziraphale grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back against the wall, and Hastur yelped, flinching with both hands up in front of his face. Aziraphale edged in closer to him, his voice quiet but inescapable, commanding and intent.

"You _will not_ come back here," he declared. "Or anywhere near my bookshop. Or anywhere near Crowley. _Ever_ again. If I see you… or he sees you… I will _end_ you. Is that clear...ah …" He glanced over his shoulder at Crowley, questioningly.

"Oh, uh… Hastur," Crowley helpfully supplied, grinning broadly.

Aziraphale turned back toward the demon with a smile. "_Hastur_?" he echoed, pointed, knowing.

Hastur was shaking, visibly petrified. He nodded frantically. "Yes," he whimpered. "Yes, yes, it's clear!"

"All right then," Aziraphale said, releasing Hastur's sleeve and leaning back a little, waiting a few moments longer before concluding softly, "_Now_ you may leave." He stepped back, removing his hand from the wall next to Hastur and allowing him to make his panicked, frankly embarrassing retreat.

Crowley couldn't remember enjoying anything more.

And then Aziraphale turned to face him - the glow slowly fading under his skin, his eyes fading back to their usual brilliant blue - and Crowley's heart thudded in his chest, his mouth dry, desire stirring low in his abdomen. Every nerve in his body was thrumming with energy in response to Aziraphale's power, but in response to more than that. This angel, this awe-inspiring, incredible being… was _his_. His warrior, his protector, his angel, his love, _his_.

And Crowley had _never_ wanted him more.

The moment Aziraphale turned to face Crowley, the overwhelming conviction he'd felt faded away, and he was filled with concern, instantly regretting his rather bold display. Crowley was staring at him, lips parted, still and stunned.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began carefully, taking a step toward him but stopping there with a little grimace. Oh, he'd been simply _dreadful_, hadn't he? Staking his claim like some utter Neanderthal. "When I said, '_mine_', I only meant… well, I just mean that you're…"

"_Yours_." The hushed, appreciative note in Crowley's soft words halted Aziraphale's words in their tracks. His mouth went dry as Crowley moved toward him, slow and fluid, hunger in his husky voice as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's neck and rested his head against the angel's forehead. "_I am_."

Aziraphale's lips parted in surprise, and he blinked. This was not the reaction he had expected.

Crowley was quick to take advantage, tilting his head back to capture Aziraphale's mouth in a slow, searching kiss. He drew back after a moment, and this close, Aziraphale could see his eyes through the glasses, wide and wondering as he studied Aziraphale for a moment before swallowing hard, and leaning in for another kiss.

Aziraphale only had a few moments to wonder and worry - _Is this real? Is he ready? Should I stop him? _\- before the full force of what Crowley was feeling hit him, and he knew - oh, he _knew_, Crowley _needed_ this, needed _him_, _so much_. There was a slight shyness, the faintest uncertainty, but the overwhelming _desire_ he felt from Crowley crested over those lesser hesitations in waves that drowned them, carrying them away until all Aziraphale could feel was how deeply Crowley _wanted_ him.

Still, Aziraphale had to be sure. He couldn't risk hurting Crowley, and he'd come _so close_ to hurting him, so recently.

He ran his hand through Crowley's hair, gentle, soothing, and pressed his head against Crowley's enough to break the kiss, gasping, catching his breath for a moment before speaking.

"Are you sure?" His voice was soft, careful. "Crowley, love… I won't… if you're not…"

"Oh, bloody…" Crowley sputtered, agitated and impatient, his hands tugging at Aziraphale's clothing. "_Yes,_ angel, if you'd have just _seen_ yourself…" Abruptly he jerked the angel closer to him, and Aziraphale let out a startled little yelp that was instantly swallowed up in another kiss.

"Wait," Aziraphale gasped out when he could manage to _think_ again, even for a moment, pressing a hand against Crowley's chest. "Wait, wait…"

Crowley let out a frustrated little sound that was almost a growl, almost a whine. "_Please_, angel…"

And, _oh_, that was almost more than Aziraphale could resist. "Yes, yes," he promised, "we will, just… take me home first?"

Crowley drew back, his eyes hazy, letting out a soft sigh - because he knew what Aziraphale did. They needed the safety of the bookshop, the privacy that came with knowing they'd have warning before any demon or angel could possibly walk in on them. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's satchel off the floor and they made it to the Bentley in record time - by human standards, anyway. And the only reason Aziraphale didn't miracle them there was that he definitely _did not_ want to have to explain the reason for that miracle later.

On the way home, Crowley couldn't seem to keep his hands off Aziraphale, who most certainly returned the sentiment, but thought they'd have a much better time if they both made it home without being discorporated on the way. He gently took Crowley's hand and placed it back on the steering wheel, then smiled a little to himself as he placed his own hand high on Crowley's thigh and slid it inward, just a bit, his smile widening when the demon groaned, his head rolling back against the headrest and his eyes falling closed.

"Angel, _fuck, why_…?"

"Watch the road, darling," Aziraphale innocently instructed. "Almost home."

The moment they reached the stairs, and therefore were out of sight of the bookshop windows, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's shirt, shoving him up against the wall and kissing him hard. Any lingering doubts Aziraphale might have had faded away as the wave of Crowley's intense arousal hit him, a choked, needy little cry escaping the demon's lips as Aziraphale reached down to palm the front of his jeans.

He could _feel _it, how much Crowley needed this, and it was _real_, it was _total_, untouched with the underlying fear Aziraphale had felt from him before.

Somehow they made it up the stairs, and Aziraphale pushed his own jacket off his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor, fingers that trembled slightly tugging at his tie as Crowley continued to kiss him, arms tight around his neck, breaking away for just a moment for a breathless whisper.

"Lights on."

Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair, reassuring. "Yes, of course."

"_Shirt_ on."

"Yes, yes, darling," Aziraphale agreed without hesitation, anything, _anything_ Crowley needed. But - he needed, too, he needed to know, if it went wrong, if _he_ went wrong in some vital way he might miss. He bit his lip, hesitating a moment before asking.

"Glasses?"

Crowley hesitated just a moment, pulling back a little, breathless. Then he smiled, slow and shy, as he removed the sunglasses from his face and tossed them in the general direction of the nightstand. They didn't quite make it, landing on the floor beside it. Aziraphale could barely suppress the little growl of desire that rose up in his throat at the sight of Crowley's fully serpentine eyes, raking slowly over Aziraphale's body with naked need.

The angel lay his demon down on the bed, covering his face, his throat, with kisses, moaning a little when he felt Crowley's hands unfastening his trousers and sliding them down. Aziraphale pulled back for a moment, meeting Crowley's eyes, suddenly serious.

"Where can I not touch you, darling?" he asked, hushed and careful, though his entire body was trembling with impatience, with desperation, because it had been _so long_…

Crowley swallowed slowly, briefly hesitating, but Aziraphale knew it was over the question, not over the act. At last he replied, soft but certain. "Just… need to see you, angel. Need to see your face, and you can… anywhere, anywhere you like…"

Aziraphale leaned in close, cupping his face, kissing him until he felt the slight tension ease from Crowley's shoulders, until he relaxed back onto the bed. "_You'll_ like it, too," Aziraphale whispered a promise into his ear, thrilled at the little shiver that ran through Crowley's body beneath him, the way Crowley eagerly tugged him closer.

Aziraphale was fully undressed by this point, but Crowley still wore his trousers and shirt. His hands slid between them to unfasten the trousers, but then he hesitated, frowning a little. His lips parted, but he looked up at Aziraphale, helplessly, before glancing toward the light.

All at once Aziraphale understood.

He snapped his fingers, and the blankets that had been beneath them were over them instead, concealing Crowley from his sight, from his shoulders down.

"Will that do, darling?" Aziraphale asked, hushed, seeking his pleasure in his eyes.

Crowley let out a tremulous breath in relief, nodding gratefully and pressing his head against Aziraphale's shoulder as his hands went back to work between them, undressing himself from the waist down. Aziraphale had just a moment's regretful wishing as he glanced toward the light, thinking that if they could do without it, Crowley could probably fully undress - but it was only a moment.

This was enough, this that he was allowed to have right here and now with Crowley.

He reached down under the blankets, cupping Crowley, stroking gently, rewarded with a soft, stuttering gasp from trembling lips as Crowley tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his hand covering Aziraphale's and moving with it. Aziraphale couldn't take his eyes from his demon's face, and after a few moments, Crowley's eyes drifted open again to meet Aziraphale's in a soft smile.

"Missed you, angel," he whispered. "Missed this."

Aziraphale blinked away tears, unwilling to spoil this moment. "Gorgeous," he whispered back, in awe, brushing Crowley's hair back from his face with his free hand. "Gorgeous you are, my darling…"

He held Crowley's gaze a moment longer before slipping down under the blankets, feeling his way in the dark as he pressed slow kisses to Crowley's hips, to the soft, silken skin of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. Crowley's hand on his head just pressed him closer, encouraging, so he continued on a tortuously slow path downward until he could take Crowley into his mouth. Crowley's hands trembled, both in Aziraphale's hair now, but gentle, so gentle and careful, stroking through it but not pulling, although Aziraphale could feel his whole body shaking, knew he was coming undone.

_But not yet, not like this…_

Aziraphale rose back up from under the blankets, smiling a little at the soft needy protest that left Crowley's lips at the loss of contact. He kissed the sound from his mouth, kissed his throat, gently pushing at his shoulder to get him to turn over on his side.

Crowley drew away from him abruptly with a shuddering breath, eyes wide.

"Need to see you, angel," he reminded him, gasping, with the first faint note of fear Aziraphale had seen from him. "Please, just… need to be…"

"Face to face," Aziraphale agreed, his hand cupping Crowley's face, pressing light kisses to his temples, his eyes, his cheeks, until he felt the fear fade away, and Crowley was pulling him closer again. Aziraphale shifted downward a little in the bed, carefully reaching between them. He hesitated a moment. Crowley was _so close_, and he was ready, _longing_.

Just the tiniest little miracle, and Crowley was ready for him. The demon gasped, staring at him with reproachful eyes for just a moment, lips parted to correct him for the risk. But Aziraphale swiftly distracted him, taking him in a firm but gentle hand, sliding into him at the same moment, and Crowley let out a strangled, desperate cry, long, elegant fingers clutching at Aziraphale's arms and pulling him closer.

It took no time at all to find the familiar rhythm, to fall back into the place that was simply _theirs_, and no one else's, where nothing and no one else mattered but just the two of them - every touch electric, every breath in sync, as Aziraphale moved in Crowley, and Crowley moved with him, and both angel and demon dropped over the edge and found their completion as one.

Crowley collapsed in Aziraphale's arms, shuddering through his release, his damp brow pressed into Aziraphale's shoulder, soft breath warm against Aziraphale's skin. He was spent and sated, and Aziraphale could _feel_ his relief, the sense of _wholeness_ he felt at having this returned to him, after so long, so very long away that they didn't even know.

And yet somehow, Aziraphale felt as if he was the one who had only just made it home.


	16. Chapter 16

_Crowley's very existence had become a never-ending nightmare of suffering and degradation. _

_There was no hope of rescue - no hope of mercy. _

_His only hope was to find a way to bring it to an end. _

_He waited, anxious and pacing, until Gabriel walked into his cell again. Gabriel had taken to using the door again, now that he'd given Crowley his eyes back. The demon supposed it just wasn't as much fun materializing out of nowhere, when his captive could see him coming. Now, Gabriel would come in through the door, close it behind him, and stand there near it. He'd snap his fingers and gesture to the floor at his feet - and Crowley knew what was expected of him. _

_His mouth dry, his heart racing, he obeyed the command and closed the distance between himself and the archangel, dropping to his knees in front of him, head bowed, eyes downcast. Gabriel reached out a hand toward Crowley's hair, and Crowley kept still, unresistant. Usually he kept silent as well - but today, he spoke, his voice as strong as he could manage. _

"_I-I want to confess." _

_Gabriel's hand stilled an inch from Crowley's head, and he stood there for a moment, silent, before crouching down to face Crowley, an indulgent smile on his lips. _

"_This I've got to hear," he said with quiet amusement. "Go ahead." _

_Crowley took a deep breath, keeping his eyes focused on Gabriel's shoes. "Yeah, all right. So… I _did_ try to seduce Aziraphale. I did. I tried. I - I wanted him to betray Heaven, and - and fall. But - it didn't work. I failed. He's - he's too loyal to Heaven to fall for it."_

_Gabriel was quiet for a moment, pensive. "Is that so." _

"_Yes," Crowley insisted, his voice trembling a little as he continued, "I - I hung around his shop, tried to get him to - to spend time with me, tried to - make him want me, and - and he tolerated me, yeah. S'pose he thinks an angel's got to try to be kind to everyone, but - he didn't want anything to do with me." _

_Gabriel seemed to consider his words for a moment, before asking, "And the pictures? That one on the park bench?" _

"_I reached for his hand, yeah," Crowley admitted, nodding, swallowing hard. "But apparently they didn't get a picture of the moment _after_ that - when he jerked his hand away like mine was on fire." He paused a moment, resisting the urge to look up at Gabriel, to try to better gauge how he was receiving this information. "I tried to seduce him, but - that's as far as it went. Me… _trying_." He was quiet for a moment, before concluding, "I'm guilty. He's not." _

"_Hmm." Gabriel nodded slowly. "Yeah, see… that's what he said, too. But I didn't believe _him_, either." _

_Stunned, Crowley forgot his caution and raised wide, startled eyes to meet Gabriel's gaze. The archangel's expression was something between pity and amusement. "No, he - he wouldn't…"_

"_He did." Gabriel shrugged. "The minute we started to question that soft, weak little angel, he turned on you in five seconds, Crowley. He said - basically what you just said. That you've been attempting to tempt him for years, and he never gave in to you." He leaned in a little closer, holding Crowley's gaze, his smile fading a little as he continued, "But I don't believe that's the truth. I think he _did _give in. I think the two of you have been fucking for decades, maybe longer. And I think somewhere along the way, you came to actually _care_ for him - but you were never more than a piece of ass to him. A dirty, shameful little secret to be hidden away… and then _thrown_ away when you got too risky. When they brought him in, he sold you out. They let him go. And now, you're the one sitting here paying for everything that _both_ of you did, _together_. Does that seem fair to you? Because to me... it just doesn't." _

_Crowley searched Gabriel's face, but the familiar vindictive satisfaction and false sympathy he found there told him nothing. "You're _lying_," he whispered, but even he could hear the desperation, the agonizing uncertainty in his voice. _

"_Nope." Gabriel's tone was light. He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head a little before meeting Crowley's eyes again with an apologetic little grimace. "Okay, then. You think I'm lying, ask yourself this… when was the last time I even _asked_ you about Aziraphale?" _

_A cold, uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Crowley's stomach as he considered the question. It had been a while. He couldn't quite remember how long. But for many visits now, Gabriel had raped him, and taunted him, and hurt him for his own pleasure - but he hadn't mentioned Aziraphale's name. _

Because… they already talked to him? Got his explanation? Because he's been cleared?

"_Are you… no longer investigating him?" Crowley asked cautiously. "If that's so, then… why am I still here? What do you want from me? Why haven't you either… either killed me, or let me go?" _

_Gabriel's smile became cold, predatory, and he placed a hand at the back of Crowley's head, fingers playing idly through his hair. "Don't be silly," he said, his voice hushed and private. His hand tightened in Crowley's hair and he pulled him closer to whisper into his ear. "I'm _never_ letting you go." _

_Crowley shivered, but barely had time to react before Gabriel abruptly used his grip on his hair to shove his head down, so far that his chin met his chest. His tone became quietly threatening as he continued, without pausing, perfectly calm. _

"_And since when is it okay for you to put those revolting demon eyes on me, little serpent?"_

_Crowley felt sick when he realized his mistake. His mouth went dry, his heart racing. He tried to shake his head, but couldn't with Gabriel's tight grip on his hair, forcing his head down. Instead he closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry. I - I forgot, I'm sorry. Please." _

"_Next time you forget," Gabriel promised, his hand softening in Crowley's hair, but still pressing his head down, "I'll find a way to help you remember." _

_As Gabriel let him go and stood up, Crowley nodded hurriedly. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a breathless whisper._

_Gabriel stood over him for a few moments longer, as if debating whether or not to do anything else to him, before turning and heading for the door without another word. It closed behind him with a loud echo in the quiet, empty room. He didn't turn up the collar, barely even touched Crowley - just left him alone with the agony of his own thoughts, and the creeping tendrils of the doubts he was desperately trying to quell. _

He loves me, _he told himself, again and again, a desperate mantra. _He loves me, he wouldn't, he loves me, he'd never…

_But he couldn't help wondering and worrying… and Gabriel didn't ask him about Aziraphale again. _

They were following Aziraphale's plan, and "working" in the bookshop when the magical alarm went off in both their heads at precisely the same time. A supernatural entity of some kind was near the shop. Crowley stood up from the stool he'd been sitting on, behind the old-fashioned cash register near the door, turning toward Aziraphale with panicked eyes.

"It's all right," Aziraphale assured him, moving swiftly forward, taking the demon's face in both his hands, holding his gaze and promising him, "It's going to be _fine_, love. Stay calm." He grimaced, glancing at the collar. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, regretfully, as he reached for the dial and turned it up to 02.

"'S all right," Crowley whispered, closing his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep shaky breath. "It's all right, you've _got_ to." He opened his eyes wide after a moment, biting his lip, fighting back panic. "Maybe you should turn it higher," he suggested, desperate. "05, so he doesn't…"

"_No_." Aziraphale's voice was firm. "This will work. We have an excuse, you're working for me. I can't very well have you in visible agony while I have customers in and out, can I?"

Gabriel didn't have to know that actual live human customers in Aziraphale's shop were relatively few and far between.

"Over here," Aziraphale instructed firmly, a hand at Crowley's back guiding him toward a shelf within sight of the front door, with a packing crate filled with books on the floor beside it. "Start shelving those, look busy. If it's him, I'll get rid of him as quickly as I can."

It was indeed Gabriel, who entered the shop a few moments later with a wide, fake smile. "Hey, Aziraphale," he said, light and casual. "Just checking in."

At the sound of his voice, Crowley's heart stuttered in his chest, his hands shook, and he dropped a heavy book to the floor with a loud thump. Aziraphale let out a put upon sigh, his tone terse and impatient as he addressed Gabriel. "Will you give me just a moment, please?"

He turned toward Crowley, advancing on him angrily. "Not there, I said these books go back _there_," he snapped, gesturing toward a section of shelving that was well away from the front of the shop, and quite conveniently out of sight of where Gabriel was standing. "Honestly, you're useless at this," Aziraphale huffed impatiently. "Do you think some motivation might be helpful for you to get this _right_, this time?" As he spoke, he took the remote control for the collar from his pocket and held it up quite obviously in view of both Crowley and Gabriel.

Crowley was not afraid - not of Aziraphale, at any rate. He knew exactly what his angel was doing.

"No," he answered, keeping his tone soft and deferent. "No, I - I've got it, I'm sorry."

"Then take those books off that shelf, put them back in the box, and _get back there_!"

Crowley nodded, keeping his head down, and quickly began loading the few books he'd shelved back into the crate, as Aziraphale turned back toward Gabriel, holding up the remote between two fingers with a tolerant sigh of exasperation.

"Do these ever require new batteries? Because I must say this one's getting its fair share of use."

Gabriel did not answer Aziraphale. Instead, he started toward Crowley abruptly. Crowley was frozen in place, a wave of panic crashing down on him, his heart thudding in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aziraphale move with Gabriel toward him, alarm in his voice.

"Wait, what are you-?"

Gabriel snapped his fingers without even turning to look at Aziraphale - and all at once, Aziraphale was the one who was frozen, in mid-step, one foot hovering several inches off the ground, one arm reached out toward Gabriel, unmistakable fear in his wide eyes over his indignantly parted lips.

And it wasn't just Aziraphale, Crowley realized.

In his rush to stop Gabriel, Aziraphale had knocked a small stack of papers off the counter. Several of them had hit the floor - but several more of them remained still and motionless in mid-air, exactly where they'd been at the moment when Gabriel snapped his fingers. Everything was still; everything was silent - even to the cars and the passersby outside the shop windows.

_Everything_ \- except for Crowley and Gabriel.

And Crowley _knew_ \- on some visceral level, even before his mind had time to process it, he knew what Gabriel had done. Because he'd done it himself, many times, and he could _feel_ it.

He knew what it felt like when time had _stopped_.

All at once, the pieces began to fall into place.

"You've stopped time," he stated, unnecessarily, looking up at Gabriel in disbelief. "You stopped it - when I was there. In Heaven." He glanced down, drawing in a shaky breath, slowly processing the weight of the realization, before looking up at Gabriel again. "How many times?" he demanded, his voice trembling. "How much - how _much_ time? How can you…?"

"You think you can do what archangels cannot?" Gabriel scoffed, but he was a little distracted, walking back a few steps toward Aziraphale's frozen form. "I mean, I'll admit it didn't occur to me." He turned and pointed back at Crowley with an appreciative grin. "That was all you, and that amazing imagination I kept reading about. But once I realized it was possible - like, _at all_ \- that was all it took."

Crowley shook his head, confused. "Reading about - where? What are you talking about?"

"Shut up." Gabriel's tone was light, easy, subtly threatening.

Crowley shut up.

Gabriel examined Aziraphale with clear amusement, waving a hand in front of his frozen face, adjusting his bow tie. He took one finger in an exaggerated motion and pushed at Aziraphale, as if to tip him over.

"Really convenient little trick," Gabriel mused, glancing over his shoulder and giving Crowley a knowing nod, before looking back at Aziraphale, his expression going cold and resentful. "Really fucking tempting, too. I could eliminate this particular thorn in my side like _that_." He snapped his fingers again, and Crowley's stomach dropped - but nothing happened.

Nothing that Crowley could _see_, anyway. Concern for Aziraphale overwhelmed his own fear.

"Leave him alone," Crowley demanded, though his voice wasn't quite as strong as he'd willed it to be. "Get away from him!"

Gabriel turned toward him all at once, eyes narrowed. Crowley took an abrupt, stumbling step backward toward the shelf behind him, dropping the book he hadn't even realized he was still holding and gripping the shelf behind him as Gabriel swiftly closed in on him. The archangel braced himself with his hands on the shelf on either side of Crowley's head - hemming him in, without touching. Yet.

"If you wanted my attention, sweetheart," he said softly, leaning in so his face was a bare inch from Crowley's, "all you had to do was ask."

Crowley did not want Gabriel's attention.

In fact, the only thing in the entire universe he wanted less than Gabriel's attention - was Gabriel's attention _on Aziraphale_.

Gabriel lowered one hand from the bookshelf to slide it along Crowley's waist, fingers edging under the hem of his shirt. Crowley shivered, but kept his hands on the shelf, resisting the urge to shove Gabriel away from him. Gabriel smiled, his other hand moving to the side of Crowley's neck, his thumb gently, teasingly stroking up the line of Crowley's throat as he leaned in closer.

"See, he can't do a damn thing to protect you," he pointed out, nodding over his shoulder toward Aziraphale. "Not from me. So why are you still protecting him? You should just tell the truth."

"I did," Crowley quietly insisted, his eyes down. "I told you. He was too strong to fall for my temptation. He's driven by his loyalty to Heaven, not by his own lusts… for sex, or power, or blood, or… any of it."

He couldn't quite keep the edge of disgust from his voice, for the greedy, violent, lustful archangel who had surrendered to _all_ of those things. He closed his eyes, the vision of Aziraphale facing down Hastur, all fearsome power and light, filling his mind's eye. His angel was strong, and loyal, and _holy_.

The archangel couldn't begin to compare.

"That so," Gabriel remarked, his tone even and calm, but his eyes glittering with resentful anger. "He sounds pretty special. So special, in fact, that I think you may have just forgotten who you belong to…"

Crowley was shocked out of his thoughts by the feeling of Gabriel's hand at his waist sliding around behind him, rough, probing fingers searching until he found the mark at the base of Crowley's spine, sending electric sparks of pain all through Crowley's body. But it wasn't the pain that instantly deflated Crowley's subtle defiance.

He shuddered, head lowered in shame, reaching one hand down to catch Gabriel's wrist. "Don't, please don't," he whispered desperately.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Gabriel snarled, low and menacing, "and take your hand off me."

Crowley flinched, taking his hand away, nodding hurriedly. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" With his head bowed, his glasses started to slip a bit, and Crowley reached up instinctively with a shaking hand to push them back up on his face where they belonged.

Gabriel snatched them away before he could, dropping them to the floor and grinding his heel into them, destroying them. Crowley cringed at the sound, one hand rising, trembling, in front of his face.

"You've been away a little too long, haven't you?" Gabriel observed, quietly, maliciously threatening. "Getting mouthy again… forgetting your training. I think you might need a little refresher course."

"No, no, I'm sorry," Crowley pleaded, tears burning in his eyes. "Please, I remember, I remember…"

Gabriel ignored his words. "I've got all the time I need to remind you of your place, little serpent," he sneered. "Down in the dirt at my feet." He snapped his fingers, gesturing toward the floor, and Crowley immediately tried to kneel. Gabriel laughed, low and pleased, but gripped Crowley's arms and held him upright, not allowing it. "No, no, no, stay right here," he said, hushed and suggestive as he pressed in close, his lips finding Crowley's throat and kissing, then biting lightly. "I want you right here, sweetheart…"

Crowley wanted desperately to be anywhere else. He didn't dare try to fight or try to push Gabriel away. Gabriel's hand once again found the mark on Crowley's back, rubbing a slow circle into the scarred, raised flesh, and Crowley choked back a pained whimper. Gabriel's other hand rose to grip the back of Crowley's head, grasping a handful of his hair and tugging his head back as he leaned in close to whisper a single word, a word that made Crowley's stomach plummet with dread.

"_Wings_."

"No, please," Crowley begged him, tears spilling down over his cheeks.

"_Now_." Gabriel's whisper was still hard as stone.

Crowley could only obey him, and Gabriel laughed softly as he moved in closer, grasping Crowley's wings with both hands, pulling cruelly at the dark, silky feathers, tugging at the nearly mended broken bone until Crowley cried out in pain.

"_Shut up_," Gabriel demanded again, abruptly turning and pulling Crowley around with him so that they were standing face to face with Aziraphale - still frozen, utterly helpless and unaware. Gabriel put his arm around Crowley's neck, holding him in place as he toyed with his wing with his other hand, his mouth close enough to spill his dark poison into Crowley's ear.

"I can take all the time I want with you… all the time in the world… anytime I want. You are _mine_, Crowley. And _nothing_ is going to change that. Certainly not _him_."

The resentful menace in his voice chilled Crowley's blood. All at once, he was far more scared for Aziraphale than he was for himself. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and reached a hand back between himself and Gabriel, palming the front of Gabriel's suit pants, gratified when he felt the soft, surprised intake of breath from the archangel's lips.

"I'll do anything," Crowley whispered, tilting his head in toward Gabriel, closing his eyes. "Anything you want…"

After a moment, Gabriel seemed to recover, and let out a low chuckle, reaching up to run the back of his hand lightly, almost affectionately, down the side of Crowley's face. "Well, _yeah_," he said softly, as if it was painfully obvious. "You'll do that anyway."

He dropped his arm from around Crowley's neck and turned around, pushing Crowley back against the shelf, back into the same position he'd found him in. And then, he gripped the hair at the back of Crowley's neck, holding him still as he leaned in to kiss the demon's parted, trembling lips.

Crowley froze, cold, creeping horror sliding down his spine. He didn't respond to the kiss - but he didn't dare pull away from it either as Gabriel slowly, deliberately plundered his mouth with lips and tongue.

In all the time he'd spent in Heaven, at Gabriel's mercy - the archangel had _never_ done _this_.

Gabriel drew back, meeting Crowley's wide, shell-shocked eyes, a soft smile on his lips at his captive's horrified, helpless expression.

"You're not safe," he stated quietly, resting his hand at the side of Crowley's throat. "You're not free. You're not _his_. You're _mine_. Right?"

Crowley lowered his head, nodding numbly, tears streaking his face. "Right," he whispered.

Gabriel smiled, sympathetic and affectionate, as he reached up a hand toward Crowley's eyes. Crowley froze, his breath catching in his throat, memories of burning agony and the razor sharp tip of a blade filling his mind. But all Gabriel did was to gently brush his tears away.

"Put your wings away, sweetheart," he softly commanded.

Crowley immediately, gratefully obeyed, as Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley's mangled sunglasses reappeared in his hand. As Crowley watched, they reformed into their original shape again. Gabriel put them back onto his face - careful, attentive, looking Crowley over. He frowned critically, then bent down to pick up the book Crowley had dropped and placed it back in his hands.

He placed a finger against Crowley's trembling lips, meeting his eyes meaningfully.

A warning to silence.

"Until next time," he said softly, the words chilling Crowley's blood.

And then Gabriel took a step back away from Crowley, and snapped his fingers again - and time restarted.

"-_doing_?" Aziraphale completed the step he'd been in the middle of, indignantly moving toward Gabriel. "Leave him alone, he's doing what I've told him to do!"

"Relax, Aziraphale," Gabriel sighed, annoyed, as he reached for Crowley's collar, frowning critically at it for a moment before stepping back. "Just checking the collar to make sure it's still functioning properly." He turned and abruptly took the remote from Aziraphale's hand, tossing it up and catching it as he remarked, "You know, maybe he'd have less trouble getting the work right around here if you kept it up a little higher. Once again - you've got it set _way_ too low."

He turned and aimed the remote at Crowley, a vindictive smile twisting his mouth as he turned it very quickly up to 08. Crowley crumpled to the floor, gasping through the searing pain that consumed his body and stole his breath.

And just like that, Gabriel was gone.

Aziraphale fell to his knees at Crowley's side, immediately turning the collar back down to 01. Crowley was curled on the floor, his body folded over his knees, arms wrapped around his chest, but when Aziraphale reached out to him, he buried his face in the angel's lap, weeping as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you were right." Crowley noticed with a distant sense of surprise that Aziraphale was crying too. "This is my fault, you _told_ me, and I thought I knew better. I should have set it a little higher, I could have spared you this, I'm _so sorry_, darling."

Crowley didn't have the energy to let him know that two or three seconds at a level 08 wasn't even _close_ to enough to reduce him to this. The collar and its settings seemed meaningless to Crowley, utterly irrelevant.

It was so much worse than Aziraphale knew - so much worse than Crowley could ever _let_ him know.

He let Aziraphale hold him, clinging to his angel and stealing what meager comfort he could from the shelter of his arms. Because he knew, now - it would not last.

Gabriel had the power to stop time.

He'd stopped time in Heaven, repeatedly, to torment Crowley and violate him and play his little games that Heaven likely knew nothing about.

And he could do it again. Any time he wanted.

Crowley knew the truth now, and Aziraphale could not protect him from it.

He wasn't safe.

He never would be.


	17. Chapter 17

_Gabriel didn't ask about Aziraphale again. _

_And that realization was a greater torment to Crowley than almost anything the archangel had done to him. _

_Gabriel had to be lying. Crowley knew there was no way that his angel would ever betray him, ever turn him over to this kind of suffering in order to save his own skin. But if Gabriel was no longer interested in gaining information from Crowley that he could use to damn Aziraphale, then… why wasn't he? _

Maybe Aziraphale got away… maybe he escaped and he's somewhere far from here, where they can't find him…

Maybe they got tired of waiting for my confession, maybe they've killed him already…

_The thought was a dark pit in the center of Crowley's soul, a slow creeping dread that he tried his best to shove down and ignore. Because that thought - that possibility was simply unthinkable. _

Not that I'd put it past them. Not at this point…

_Not after seeing what they were truly capable of. Crowley had never imagined the kind of cruelty he'd experienced at Heaven's hands. And the torture continued, relentless, though with a few of the details changed. _

_Gabriel never asked about Aziraphale. He never asked him anything, anymore. He made demands. Gave orders. Insisted on absolute obedience, every moment. And if Crowley failed, even in some very small way - made a sound after Gabriel had ordered his silence; shifted slightly from a painful position Gabriel had ordered him to take, even after _hours_ of agony - punishment was swift and brutal. _

_Crowley didn't know what the purpose was of all this suffering, why Gabriel was doing this to him. _

_What he _did_ know was that, whatever this was - it was no longer an interrogation. _

_Couldn't possibly be, when Gabriel no longer seemed at all interested in hearing Crowley's voice, so much as he loved the sound of his own. _

"_You deserve this," he'd tell Crowley, while backhanding him to the floor, "for being a lying, disobedient little snake!" _

"_Maybe this will help you remember to do as you're told next time!" as he'd yank handfuls of feathers from Crowley's damaged wings. _

"_This is all you're good for," whispered in his ear as Gabriel tore into his body and devastated his soul, "worthless little demon whore…"_

_Gabriel hardly ever set the collar to any higher than 02 anymore - but by the same token, he rarely healed the injuries he inflicted, either, preferring to leave Crowley with them and allow them to heal the slow, human way. That is, when he didn't end up reinjuring Crowley before they'd had a _chance_ to heal. Crowley was covered in layers of bruises by this point. Sometimes the bleeding would barely have stopped from Gabriel's last violation of his body, before Gabriel would be back to violate him again. _

_Gabriel said he was leaving the bruises as a reminder. "It's punishment. You're supposed to _feel_ it," he said. "It's supposed to help you remember not to be such a useless little fuck-up next time."_

_But Crowley knew that Gabriel got off on it - seeing the marks he'd made on Crowley's body when he came to hurt him again. He'd deliberately dig his fingers into dark bruises, press his teeth into the spot on Crowley's neck where they'd already left their imprint, laughing, low and satisfied, when Crowley would choke back a whimper of pain. _

_Gabriel took particular interest in Crowley's wings. _

_He came in one night - or morning, or afternoon, Crowley had no way of knowing; it always felt like night in the gloom of his little cell - and Crowley automatically went to his knees. Gabriel smiled, pleased - and then ordered Crowley to spread out his wings to either side, to lay them out flat and vulnerable on the cold stone. Crowley obeyed, though he knew whatever Gabriel had planned was going to hurt. _

_Disobedience hurt worse. _

_Crowley's heart sank when Gabriel reached into his coat and pulled out his blessed whip, coiled and clean. It had been a very long time since he'd used it - certainly, not since before Crowley's wings had been exposed. Gabriel pressed the hilt of it up under Crowley's chin, tilting his head back, and Crowley swallowed convulsively against its pressure, making sure to keep his eyes as downcast as possible. _

"_You're going to do _exactly_ as you're told." Gabriel's voice was low and warning, sending shivers of dreadful anticipation down Crowley's spine. "Right?" _

_Crowley nodded, closing his eyes. "Y-yes," he whispered. "Yes." _

_Gabriel put the whip away again, but it was little relief as he circled Crowley, slow and lazy, like a predator that had already wounded its prey, and knew it couldn't possibly escape. _

_Kind of _exactly_ like that. _

"_Straighter," Gabriel instructed, putting a hand on Crowley's shoulder and pushing it back until he approved of his posture. Two fingers pushed at the back of Crowley's head, pressing it into a lower, more submissive position. "Hands behind your back," Gabriel ordered, and Crowley obeyed. "Cross them." Crowley could hear the satisfied smile in Gabriel's voice. "There. Just like that." _

_Crowley tensed, but didn't so much as flinch when Gabriel crouched in front of him, reaching out a hand to run his fingers idly through Crowley's hair. _

"_If you move an inch from this position," Gabriel said softly. "If you make a single sound… I'm going to use that whip to reduce your wings to _shreds_. You'll beg me to just _cut them the fuck off_ before I'm done. Is that clear?"_

_Crowley nodded, closing his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. _

_For what felt like hours, but was probably not nearly so long - Crowley doubted Gabriel would have had the patience for that - he was forced to maintain that position. And Gabriel didn't make it easy for him, every now and then poking and prodding at his bruised, battered body, _trying_ to catch him off guard and make him disobey. _

_When the sadistic test was over, Gabriel knelt down behind Crowley, large hands covering his hips and pulling him back onto the archangel's knees. Crowley let out a startled cry of alarm, his heart stuttering in his chest. No, he'd tried _so hard_, and now he was going to be punished. _

"_Please, I'm sorry, please don't…"_

"_Shhh," Gabriel whispered, hushed and soothing, running a hand through Crowley's hair and pulling his head back onto his shoulder. "You did just fine… it's over now, you can move... " He laughed, a dark malicious sound that chilled Crowley's blood. "I'm pretty sure you're not gonna be able to help it."_

_His hand slid down to brush across the curve of Crowley's ass, and the demon shuddered, his heart sinking. The bleeding had barely stopped from the last time. Gabriel drew in a soft hiss of breath, making a sympathetic tutting sound. _

"_You're still pretty sore, aren't you?" he observed. "I could heal you first." _

_Crowley remained silent and still, expressing no preference. Healing him first wasn't necessarily a mercy, as every time Gabriel healed him, he made his body virginally tight again - for his own maximum pleasure, and maximum suffering for Crowley. _

"_Or..." Gabriel suggested, the teasing expectation in his voice terrifying. "... we could try something else today." _

_His touch was as gentle as it ever was, as he pushed Crowley forward off of his lap so that he could stand. Crowley righted himself on his knees, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach, shivering with cold and with fear as Gabriel slowly paced around to stand facing him. He stepped closer… closer… until Crowley's face was level with the zipper of his expensive suit pants. _

_Crowley hesitated. He didn't _want_ to, of course he didn't, but… perhaps it was better than the alternative. He raised a tentative hand, then withdrew it with alarm, glancing up toward, not at, Gabriel's face. "D-do you want me to…?_

"_Yes. Go ahead." _

_Crowley's hands trembled as he pulled Gabriel's zipper down and took his rather intimidating cock out of the front of his pants. _

_He'd done this before, of course, with Aziraphale, many times. He rather enjoyed it. He loved how it felt to be on his knees for Aziraphale - the way his angel would look at him, crystal blue eyes darkened and hazy with desire, gentle hands in his hair, soft body quivering under his ministrations. He loved the little thrill of satisfaction he felt at making his angel come apart with pleasure. _

_He knew this was not going to be anywhere near so pleasant. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to proceed. _

_Abruptly Gabriel grabbed his jaw, forcing his head up, and Crowley instinctively closed his eyes as Gabriel leaned down close, his words hostile, his breath hot against Crowley's face. "And if I feel your teeth, or even just a _trace_ of that venom of yours… I'll carve them right out of your head." _

_Crowley nodded, swallowing hard; his mouth felt like sandpaper, his heart was racing. _

"_Do you think I'm bluffing? Exaggerating?" _

"_N-no," Crowley whispered. "No, I-I know you'll do it." _

_Gabriel released him roughly, and Crowley raised a hand to gingerly work his jaw for a moment, swallowing slowly, before trying again, taking Gabriel in his hand, and then into his mouth. In the end, he had very little control over the whole encounter. It was only a few moments before Gabriel's fist locked into his hair, holding him still as he fucked Crowley's mouth. It was suffocating and painful and humiliating - but nowhere near as bad as it could have been. _

_When he was finished, Gabriel let Crowley go as he zipped up his pants and righted himself. _

"_Not bad," he remarked, appreciative. "Might have to let you do that more often." His smile faded as he crouched down to face Crowley again, his words carrying a leading, expectant edge. "I figured this would be less painful for you than the alternative." _

_Crowley recognized the prompt for what it was, and nodded, bowing his head. "Yes," he agreed. "Th-thank you." _

"_There it is," Gabriel said softly, patting Crowley's cheek with something resembling affection. "Exactly what I was hoping you'd say. You're learning. Look at me." _

_Crowley's stomach dropped. Every now and then, Gabriel would order him to make eye contact, and even though it was an order, even though he knew he couldn't refuse - by this point, the very act of meeting the archangel's eyes just felt _wrong_. It felt like he was breaking the rules, he was going to be struck down, brutally punished at any moment. It was terrifying. _

_Gabriel's violet eyes were almost warm, his smile genuine and approving. "You've done very well today, sweetheart. I'm very pleased with you." _

_Relief flooded through Crowley as Gabriel removed his hand and rose to his feet. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, bracing himself with one hand on the floor as he drew in a few deep, steadying breaths. When he glanced up at the archangel in front of him - his stomach plummeted through the floor. _

_Gabriel was holding the whip in his hand. _

"_Lay your wings out again." _

_Crowley looked up at him, hurt and betrayal in his eyes. "_Why_?" he demanded, unable to help his protest, even as he automatically - if a bit slowly - obeyed the command. "I did what you said! You said you were _pleased_!" _

"_Pay attention, Crowley, because this is an important lesson." _

_Gabriel's voice was calm, patient, as he circled Crowley. He didn't sound the least bit angry - and that somehow made it infinitely worse when he drew back the whip and let the first lash fly across Crowley's left wing. Crowley couldn't help jerking it in for just a moment, biting back a choked cry of pain, but he immediately extended the shaking limb again, drawing in shallow, shuddering breaths as he tried to keep it together. _

"_You need to understand a few fundamental things about your existence - now, and from now on. You want to know _why_?" The lash fell again. "Because I _can_." Another blow. "Because I feel like it." Again. "Because you're _mine_." _

_The next one hit Crowley across the top edge of the same wing, glancing off to catch the side of his face, and he gasped, turning away. Gabriel grabbed his face and forced his head back up, forced him back into position, crouching down to speak to him face to face, each word measured and emphatic and impossible to miss. _

"_You have no rights. You are entitled to _nothing_. You could do _everything_ right, _every single time_… and I can still do this to you. I can do _anything_ to you. Because _you belong to me_." _

_He stood up, releasing his grip on Crowley in favor of delivering several more brutal blows. _

"_You're my slave," Gabriel declared, only slightly breathless with exertion. "I'm your master." After a weighted pause, he ordered quietly, "Say it." _

_Crowley stayed there in silence for a moment, struggling to catch his breath; every nerve in his brutalized wings felt as if it was on fire. And amidst all the pain and fear and confusion… a slow-burning _anger _began to rise. _

_He didn't know what the truth was, about Aziraphale, about why he was here. All he knew was that Gabriel had been lying to him and manipulating him from the beginning - although to what precise end, he couldn't guess. He'd done _exactly_ as he was told, accepting violence and degradation, allowed himself to be violated without offering even the slightest resistance - and this was his reward? _

_The overwhelming frustration, the _utter unfairness_ of it all, was suddenly just _too much_._

_He swallowed hard, squaring his jaw - and then squaring his shoulders, straightening his posture. His eyes remained respectfully downcast - but he kept silent. Gabriel was still for a moment, waiting, before he moved around to crouch down in front of Crowley again. _

"_You know," he pointed out, his voice taut with anger, falsely light, "if this is what I'm doing to you when I'm _happy_ with you… it's probably not a great idea to _piss me off_." _

_Crowley flinched a little; couldn't deny the logic of that. _

"_What are you, Crowley? What am I to you?" _

_Crowley was quiet for a moment, carefully considering his answer. Finally he spoke, a note of quiet defiance in his words. _

"_I'm your prisoner. You're my captor." _

"_No." Gabriel's tone was sharp, and Crowley flinched in spite of himself. "Prisoners get exchanged. Captivity eventually ends. You're my slave. I'm your master. _Say it_." _

_Crowley remained stubbornly silent. _

_And by the time Gabriel was finished - and only due to his own exhaustion and frustration, rather than any mercy or temperance on his part - Crowley's wings _were_ fairly shredded, blood flowing freely from them to soak into the stone floor. Crowley lay face down, folded over his own knees, barely conscious, his body quivering, spasming with pain. And still, he'd kept his silence. _

_Gabriel stepped over him, then deliberately ground his heel into the upper portion of Crowley's left wing, grim satisfaction twisting his mouth when Crowley let out a strangled, agonized cry. _

"_You'll say it," Gabriel declared, a dark promise. "Trust me, you will." _

_And he stalked out, leaving Crowley alone with his suffering - and with a steadily rising certainty. _

_He had to find a way out of here. _

_He had to find Aziraphale. _

_He had to _know.

The day after Gabriel's visit to the bookshop, Aziraphale decided.

He _would not rest_ until he had found a way to neutralize that damned - because devised in Heaven or not, the evil thing was _damnable_ \- collar, and to free Crowley from Heaven's, and more specifically _Gabriel's_ control.

The manual was only slightly better than useless - which was probably why Gabriel had been so comfortable simply handing it over to Aziraphale, he surmised with bitter frustration. But the angel found that if he phrased his questions very carefully, he could manage to pry some bits of useful information from its infernal pages.

"Can the device cause permanent damage to the wearer?" he asked, frowning down at the manual with concern, glancing toward the partially open bedroom door where Crowley was in the midst of a much needed nap.

_**Most punishment levels are safe for long-term use.**_

"_Safe_!" Azirpahale huffed, indignant. "How is it _safe_ if it's…?" He broke off his building tirade abruptly.

The manual in no way cared what he thought about it.

Aziraphale considered his next question, and then, through gritted teeth, asked again, "Which punishment levels are capable of causing permanent damage?"

_**Levels 08, 09, and 10 are capable of causing permanent damage or even discorporation if left for too long.**_

Aziraphale felt sick as he remembered what Gabriel had said about the level 10 punishment he'd inflicted on Crowley for hours.

"At what point does a level 10 punishment cause discorporation?"

He knew he was just torturing himself now; knowing this wouldn't change anything, as he had no intention of ever allowing Crowley to endure another level 10 punishment of _any_ duration. Still, for some reason, he just felt he had to _know_.

_**Unclear. Maximum length of time for which this device has been set at level 10 punishment is two hours, 37 minutes. Discorporation did not occur.**_

Cold fury began to swell up in Aziraphale's chest. Gabriel had used such a cruel punishment on Crowley - without even having the faintest idea what it would do to him.

He wanted to take the collar from Crowley's neck and lock it onto Gabriel's. Of course, in order to subdue Gabriel in the first place, he would need some kind of a weapon that would work on an archangel - or at the very least, an airtight ruse. The bookshop had a cellar. It was musty and disused, but it would still be suitable for the purposes of keeping a captive angel…

Aziraphale blinked, abruptly aghast at the direction of his thoughts.

_No, no, it's not my place to think such things, and certainly doesn't do Crowley any good. I'm to bring down all of Heaven on his head because of my own thirst for vengeance? No, no, that's no good at all..._

Aziraphale shut out his dark, spiraling thoughts, and brought his attention back to the manual. He frowned, thoughtful, as an intriguing idea occurred to him.

"Can you show me the total number of days for which this individual device has been worn by the demon Crowley?"

_**This device has been worn by the demon Crowley for 57 days. **_

_37 days before I found him… nearly three weeks since then…_

Aziraphale's heart sank with disappointment.

He thought for a moment, unwilling to give up just yet. The collar had shown him the longest duration that Crowley had experienced at a certain level. Perhaps it could tell him… how long it had been set to that level _in total_. Perhaps, it could tell him how long it had been set to _each_ level, in total.

And perhaps… just perhaps… those totals might equal more than 57 days' worth of time.

"Can you show me the internal data logs for the device? Details of how long the device has been run at each individual punishment level?"

Aziraphale was almost certain he'd get back an answer that amounted to "access denied" or "archangel approval necessary".

What he received was a detailed, day-by-day report of every time the collar's level had been changed, and how long it had been left there - beginning with the day that Crowley had disappeared. Aziraphale tried not to get his hopes up too high. It was quite likely that the details in this log would match time as he had experienced it, not as Crowley had. And in fact, the first several days' records did indeed total 24 hours - Aziraphale noted with relief, almost entirely set at level 01, only very brief times when it had gone any higher than that.

But as Aziraphale continued working through the daily records, he found that after the first few days, the numbers ceased to match up. On Day 7, for example, the collar had been left on level 06 for four hours, and then lowered to level 02 and left there for 10 hours, before being brought back up to level 06 for 33 hours. Aziraphale tried not to think about Crowley, left on such a severe punishment for such a cruel length of time. He was on the verge of a breakthrough here, something that might give Crowley some of the answers he craved.

If these numbers were at all accurate, then somehow, Day 7 had contained 47 hours.

Day 9 appeared to have contained 58.

With eager anticipation, Aziraphale took out a blank notebook and a pencil, and began furiously writing, working the maths.

Crowley emerged from the bedroom a little before dusk - still exhausted.

The collar didn't help, even at the lowest setting, sapping his energy and leaving him feeling weak and tired most of the time. His sleep was restless, plagued with dark dreams, and he kept waking, startled, his body broken out in a cold sweat, heart pounding. At last he gave up and ventured out into the living area, where Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, scribbling furiously in a notebook. He didn't notice as Crowley approached, so the demon draped his arms around his angel's shoulders.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hello, darling, did you have a restful nap?" Aziraphale's tone was pleasant, but distracted.

"Not really," Crowley admitted, voice hoarse with sleep as he leaned in to kiss Aziraphale's neck. "Can't sleep without you… don't have to sleep, though. We could… _not _sleep…"

"Not now, darling, all right?" Aziraphale's tone was one of barely reined impatience. "I'm really quite in the middle of something, and I must finish this. I'll come find you in a bit, yes?"

"Yeah. Yeah, 's fine." Crowley withdrew his arms from around Aziraphale, trying not to feel too rejected. "I'll just… make us some tea."

"Yes, that would be lovely, darling," Aziraphale said, in a tone that suggested he'd have said the same exact thing if Crowley had suggested he was about to go count how many pedestrians he could mow down in a single London rush hour.

Crowley sighed and headed for the kitchen, flipping on the light and opening the cupboard where the tea was kept - right next to his little plant, which was sporting several brand new spots on its once again browning leaves, tiny, fragile purple petals scattered in the dirt beneath its stems.

"_More_ spots?" Crowley snapped at it, raising his voice. "What is bloody _wrong_ with you?"

"Crowley, love, _please_!" Aziraphale called from the other room, agitated. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

Crowley cast a resentful glare back toward the living room before returning his attention to the plant - albeit with a considerably lower volume.

"You're bloody useless, you know that? I can't help you if you won't help yourself, you know. It's like you're not even _trying_ to get any better! Might as well toss you out if this is all the better you're going to get, and I'm beginning to think that maybe it is!"

And as Crowley spoke, the little plant's leaves began to shiver and shake a little. Crowley frowned, tilting his head at it suspiciously. Perhaps it was just a draught, or maybe wishful thinking on his part, because none of his plants had shown any fear of him since his return. But no - there it was again, a faint tremor that passed through the damaged little thing as it awaited his threatened judgment.

A brief image flashed through his mind - staring at a perfectly polished pair of brown leather dress shoes, while a menacing figure loomed over him, berating him for his failings while he waited… just _waited_, heart in his throat… helpless… _trembling_…

To his own surprise, Crowley felt no satisfaction in the plant's reaction.

All at once, he was just unbearably _sad_.

He let out an exasperated sigh, reaching out to touch the imperfect leaves, stroking gently across them as they shook harder at the contact. He closed his eyes and focused on healing the damage once again. The brown spots faded away… the wilting leaves became strong and thick again… and the tiny purple petals floated back into their places to form full, vibrant flowers. The trembling in the little plant's leaves subsided as Crowley opened his eyes again, examining his work with a satisfied little nod and then leaning in close.

"You can do better," he whispered, with all the faint sternness he could muster. "_Do better_."

He felt suddenly exhausted from the miracle, and the lack of any genuine rest in his nap, so he made his way back to the bedroom, leaving it half-open behind him.

He was fairly certain Aziraphale wouldn't even remember the promise of tea.

Crowley lay down in the bed, glancing up toward the window, the purple glow of twilight barely cutting into the dusky dimness of the room. It wasn't quite dark yet, but Crowley did not want to wake up in the darkness a couple of hours from now. He reached for the lamp on the nightstand - just as the bedroom door opened the rest of the way, and Aziraphale stepped inside.

"Are you going back to sleep, dear?" he asked softly, his face shadowed in the light from the hall beyond the room.

"Yeah. Trying," Crowley muttered, turning on the light, taking off his sunglasses, and laying his head down on the pillow.

"Ah, good. Because, well… I made you something."

Curious despite his exhaustion and his mood, Crowley lifted his head again, rising up on one elbow as Aziraphale approached and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned away a little, reaching under his jacket and pulling something out, presenting it to Crowley with a hopeful, earnest smile.

It was a little larger than an orange - vaguely round and glowing and pleasantly warm when Aziraphale placed it in Crowley's hands. The light it gave off was warm as well - soothing and cozy and only bright enough to keep the shadows at bay.

"I made it myself," Aziraphale said with the self-conscious tone of a confession. "Literally, it's… myself. Made from - from my grace. I thought it'd be a less jarring light source than the bedside lamp, and - and you can safely put it right into the bed with you if you like, for - for added warmth, and if you wake up - well - perhaps you _won't _wake up, until you're rested, if…"

His voice trailed off… but Crowley understood.

The tiny glowing thing felt like Aziraphale felt - warm and safe and comforting. Crowley couldn't quite bring himself to look away from it, lost in its light. He laid his head down on the pillow again, hugging the little light to his chest, and it felt like a heating pad nestled in a soft, downy pillow.

"I'm sorry I have to continue working, for now," Aziraphale said softly. "But… trust when I tell you that it's for you, my darling. And it will be worth it."

Crowley felt his insecurities and resentment melt away, and he reached out a hand toward Aziraphale, who gratefully took it, raising it to his lips and kissing it softly. Crowley smiled - a slow, sleepy smile, because he was beginning to feel like drifting off to sleep, and staying asleep this time, would be easier, with his angel's gift nestled in his arms - as if Aziraphale was still watching over him, even if he wasn't there.

"Thanks, angel," he whispered, already hazy with sleep. "Love you."

The last thing he was aware of before drifting off was the gentle press of Aziraphale's lips to his brow, the lamp on the nightstand being turned out, and the soft sound of the bedroom door closing.

Aziraphale worked for several hours, poring over the numbers the manual had provided. From any sort of logical, realistic standpoint… they simply did not make sense.

There were far too many hours.

Aziraphale found that almost all of the days Crowley had been gone, according to the collar's data, had held at least 30 hours. Many of them held as much as _two weeks'_ worth of time, in what was recorded as a single day.

He was vaguely relieved to see that the total time the collar had spent at level 10 was limited to that one specific instance he'd already asked about. The other higher settings had been used with disturbing frequency, but it was the very low settings where the greatest time discrepancy existed. Days' worth of time spent, in what should have been hours, with minimal suffering inflicted by the collar.

Aziraphale couldn't make sense of it at first - and then a dark realization occurred to him, bringing in its wake that familiar, smoldering fury.

_Of course he'd have the collar turned down… if he wanted Crowley's attention focused on something else. _

_Something worse. _

These very long periods were the times when Gabriel had _personally_ tortured Crowley.

Aziraphale forced himself to focus on his task, until finally, he had all of the numbers totaled as best he could. His notebook held a record of the number of hours in each day that had passed on Earth… of the time spent at each individual setting, and then the total time spent, on a reasonably clean sheet at the back of his notebook.

Dawn was just breaking, the high window showing shades of gold and pink, as Aziraphale returned to his bedroom, where Crowley was just stirring to wakefulness after a long rest. He blinked at the sound of the door closing, sitting up in the bed, his eyes sleepy, his voice hoarse, but touched with unmistakeable concern as he took in Aziraphale's demeanor and expression.

"Angel, what is it?"

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a long moment, so vulnerable and uncertain… wide serpentine eyes trustingly bared to his view… and he couldn't imagine how anyone could inflict such cruelty on him…

For _so long_…

Crowley was sitting up in the bed completely now, the angelic night-light Aziraphale had given him sitting unnoticed at his side. The angel fell to his knees beside the bed, reaching out to take both of Crowley's hands in his, as the demon's brow furrowed with worry.

"Angel, what? You're scaring me."

Aziraphale gave him what might have been a much more reassuring, warm smile, if not for the tears that blurred his vision. He took in a deep, shaky breath, before answering, his words deliberate and measured.

"367 days, 14 hours, and 27 minutes."

Crowley just blinked at him, shaking his head a little in confusion - and then his eyes slowly widened with realization, his lips parting with surprise as Aziraphale explained.

"That's how long you were actually gone, Crowley. More than a year."

Crowley swallowed slowly, glancing down at the bed between them for a moment, visibly processing, before looking up to meet Aziraphale's eyes again. His voice was halting, hesitant, as he asked, "How - how do you know this?"

"The data log from the manual. I accessed it today, and the hours didn't add up. The collar records the actual extent of the time you were gone, Crowley - and you were right. _You were right_."

Crowley looked down at the bed again, drawing in and letting out a deep, shuddering breath, visibly overwhelmed.

"I don't know how they did it, or why," Aziraphale continued. "But we have proof now, proof positive that time was manipulated. I know that now, beyond all doubt." Aziraphale leaned across the mattress, looking up into Crowley's lowered eyes, squeezing his hands gently, and Crowley met his gaze, his own lost and haunted.

"And I know something else, my darling," Aziraphale said softly, reverently. "I know that you're _so very, incredibly strong_… to have borne up under it for that long. To have _protected me_ for that long, Crowley. My very, very brave, darling boy…"

Aziraphale hesitated just a moment before pulling himself up onto the bed beside Crowley, who immediately hid his face against Aziraphale's shoulder, trembling hands clutching at the angel's shirt. Aziraphale frowned, concerned.

"Crowley?"

Crowley resisted his very gentle, very careful attempt to get him to sit up, pressing his head into Aziraphale's shoulder so hard it very nearly hurt. And after a few moments, Aziraphale could feel the wet heat of his tears, could hear the soft hitch of his breath… could feel the overwhelming sense of _sorrow _emanating from him.

With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale shifted the glowing light to the nightstand and left it there. He gently dislodged Crowley, only long enough to pull back the covers and slide under them beside him, pulling him down into his arms and holding him while he silently wept.


	18. Chapter 18

_Crowley spent what felt like days alone in his dark cell, his torn wings aching and burning as his body struggled, against the restraint of the collar, to heal itself, with nothing but his own thoughts for company. _

_He thought about the pain, of course, and desperately willed it to end, wished for death as an alternative to this endless suffering. He thought about Gabriel, and wondered with dread when he'd return, and what new torment he'd have devised as a means of convincing Crowley to give him the admission he desired. _

_And he thought about Aziraphale. _

_He wondered if he was alive… if he was looking for him… if he'd been called into Heaven and questioned, as Gabriel had said. _

_He wondered if Aziraphale had betrayed him. _

He wouldn't, _he told himself over and over again, sometimes only in his head, other times in fevered whispers into the stillness of the cell. "He wouldn't, he loves me, he wouldn't…"_

_He almost wished for the punishment of the collar, to obliterate his thoughts with sparks of electric pain and keep him from tormenting himself this way, keep his worries and doubts at bay - but Gabriel had known what he was doing, leaving Crowley to a worse suffering, one of his own mind's devising. All the collar offered was the ever-present background static that wasn't nearly loud enough to drown out Crowley's fears. _

_And then, all at once - that was gone, too. _

_Crowley blinked into the dim light that came from the open door to his cell, the eerie, complete _silence _almost overwhelming. He'd been sure that Gabriel had closed the cell door behind him - and there it was, standing wide open. Of course, he'd been a bit out of it the past several days. _

_Or weeks. He couldn't quite be sure. _

_But the door was indeed standing open, as it had never been when he was not chained to the floor at the center of the room. It was open - and the collar was silent. _

_Crowley reached up a tentative hand, braced for a nasty shock, as he touched it. _

_Nothing. _

_He tried again, sliding his fingertips between the metal and his neck, wincing at the brush of his own hand against his abraded skin - but the collar still did not punish him for touching it. Crowley felt his heart rate accelerate, as he reached up with both hands, hastily searching for a latch or a buckle or some way to unfasten the thing and _get it off…

_But there was nothing. The collar was smooth all the way around, except for the tiny readout screen and the buttons that controlled it. _

_Crowley carefully rose to his feet, wincing as the shifting of his weight agitated his still-painful wings. They weren't bleeding anymore as far as he could tell, but still burned as the air hit them. Crowley edged toward the door, every nerve taut and braced for the worst as he worked up every remaining ounce of courage he had and looked outside. _

_The last thing he wanted, here, was to draw attention to himself. _

_Apparently, there was no one's attention to be had. _

_The hallway outside his cell was silent and deserted. There were several desks with chairs beside them - empty. The lights were off, though the white walls and large windows still gave the area a bright appearance. There was no sign of any angels around - not the sounds of anyone working, or walking, or talking. Nothing. _

_It was like Heaven was currently closed for business. _

_Crowley's heart raced, his stomach churning with anxiety - and maybe the slightest stirring of hope. _

_Was it possible that he could actually _get out_? _

_He edged out into the hallway, glancing around nervously. If someone stopped him, he reasoned, he could say that he'd just wanted to see what was going on, why the door was open, where everyone was. He wasn't actually _trying to leave_, that'd be foolhardy. But no one stopped him, no one appeared at all, as he made his way down the long hallway, not allowing himself to be distracted by the spectacular view through the large glass wall at his right. _

_He made it to the escalator - and still, no one stopped him. _

_The only sound in the entire place seemed to be the escalator's quiet, electric hum - eerie in the silence. Crowley glanced around one more time, before taking a deep breath and stepping on. He resisted the urge to run down its length, unwilling to make any unnecessary sound or draw any attention to himself - though he still had yet to see any sign of anyone. _

_As he neared the base of the escalator, he could see the windows leading to the outside - the cars, the people walking by. His heart leapt in his chest, he had almost made it! He was almost free! He stepped off the escalator and hurried toward the revolving door, his thoughts racing… just one name, over and over, ready to cry it out across their connection the moment he stepped outside. _

Aziraphale!

_He touched the door, pushed it open - and all at once, the collar sparked back to life. There was a bare instant of white static as a warning, before it fired hard, sending cruel electric jolts of agony all through his body, pain that set his ravaged wings aflame again as he collapsed to the floor. _

_And it didn't end. _

_The punishment continued, relentless waves cresting over him, drowning him. He couldn't breathe, gasping uselessly and clawing at the collar in a desperate attempt to make it stop. He was vaguely aware as strong, familiar hands dragged his hands away from the collar and pulled him up. And then, he was being carried, back up the escalator, back down the long, white hallway. _

_Back to his cell. _

_He cried out at the painful jolt as he was dumped roughly onto the floor. He flinched away from the hands that reached for his neck, and received a sharp slap to his face for his efforts, followed by a harsh shake. _

"_Stop fighting me! I'm trying to _help _you, you little idiot!" Gabriel snarled. _

_Despite the pain, Crowley's training kicked in, and he went still, unresistant even as his body shook with agony, as Gabriel reached for the buttons on the collar and pressed a few in sequence - and the level 08 agony he'd been experiencing swiftly faded out, leaving Crowley to ride out the sharp, tingling after-shocks. He was vaguely aware of Gabriel rising to his feet, looming over him. _

"_You're really disappointing me, here, lately, Crowley." Gabriel's voice was cold and angry. "This - and your behavior last time I was here. I thought we were finally getting somewhere. Making progress. But _no_, you've just _got _to start regressing, right back to where we started. I guess that's what you're good at, though, isn't it? Rebelling." Gabriel was quiet for a moment. "_Apologize_." The order was hard as steel, the threat behind it unmistakable. _

_Crowley just lay there, trying to catch his breath, his heart aching with the loss of what had been _so close_, almost within his grasp. He was just _so tired_, so fucking sick and tired of the pain and the humiliation and the mind games. He wanted to go home. He wanted his angel. He'd had _enough_. _

_He remained stubbornly silent. _

_Gabriel responded by grabbing the upper ridge of Crowley's wing, his fingers ripping into the ashen, blood-caked feathers and tearing them out as he twisted the bone viciously backward. Crowley cried out in pain, tried to pull away, but Gabriel's hold was too tight. In vindictive retaliation, he just twisted harder. _

"_I'm sorry!" Crowley gasped out at last, surrendering. "I'm sorry, _I'm sorry…"

_Gabriel eased his grip, but did not let go. "What are you, Crowley?" he asked yet again, wearily, as if he already expected the answer, already expected what he'd be doing next. "What am I to you?" _

_Crowley swallowed slowly. _

_On this point, he was not willing to surrender. _

_He steeled himself for the pain he knew was coming, squared his shoulders, his jaw locked stubbornly. He kept his gaze focused somewhere around Gabriel's knees - and he said nothing. _

_Gabriel laughed, low, a little sad. "All right then," he sighed. "You want to behave like the rebellious, fallen angel that you are - that's how I'll treat you." _

_His hand on Crowley's wing softened into an incongruous caress, before he let go entirely and took a few steps away, toward the door. Then he turned, and Crowley's stomach clenched when he saw the metallic glint of the remote control in Gabriel's hand. _

_In seconds, the pain had reached an unspeakable level - a level Crowley had never experienced from the collar before._ _All-consuming agony that made him feel like he was on fire, burning from the inside out. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, every muscle rigid and clenched against relentless torment. _

"_Level 10," Gabriel explained, his voice fading in and out over the rush of Crowley's blood pounding in his ears. "Closest it gets to Hell, without being… you know, _Hell_." _

_If Crowley could have spoken, he would have argued Gabriel's assumptions. The archangel really had no way of knowing. He'd never been to Hell, and he'd never experienced the collar for himself. But Crowley had experienced both, and he knew. _

_Hell had _nothing _on this. _

_Gabriel ran a hand down the bare skin of Crowley's back, trembling and sweat-soaked already, a cruel smile on his lips as the helpless demon sank deeper into unspeakable suffering. _

"_Welcome home," he smirked._

_Then he got up and walked away, closing the door behind him. He didn't come back for hours. _

Five days had passed since Gabriel's visit to the bookshop - and Aziraphale hadn't stopped studying.

He was determined to find answers, to find some way of freeing Crowley from Gabriel's influence. The information he'd discovered about the time discrepancy had at least allowed him to climb into bed with Crowley and rest for a while that night - but before Crowley awakened the next morning, Aziraphale had already left the bed and was hard at work again in the living room.

Crowley understood why he was doing it. He just also understood that it was pointless.

Gabriel could not be stopped.

Aziraphale sat on the sofa in the living room, with a very old, very heavy book spread out on his lap, and Crowley curled up against his side. For the last several days, it had been the only way for Crowley to get any of his angel's attention. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Aziraphale's fingertips, lightly curling Crowley's hair around them, drifting down every once in a while to gently stroke his arm or his shoulder.

It only made Crowley want more.

After all - he wasn't going to have this _at all_. Not for much longer.

Crowley turned his face into Aziraphale's chest, kissing it lightly, his arm across Aziraphale's stomach slipping a little lower so that he could toy with the waist of Aziraphale's trousers. He slid his fingers just under the edge, teasingly back and forth. Aziraphale let out a soft little chuckle, his hand reaching out to catch Crowley's fingers and pull them back.

"Now, love," he said, gently reproving, "you keep this up and I'll never get this done."

"You'll never get this done anyway," Crowley pouted. "You're going to be researching and ignoring me until the bloody end of time."

Aziraphale closed the book and carefully set it aside, turning to face Crowley more fully, one hand cupping his cheek. "How's this, then?" he said, hushed and enticing, leaning in to kiss Crowley's lips, soft and slow and searching. He drew back just a little, eyes sparkling as he assured Crowley, "You have my full-"

His voice broke off abruptly, his starry eyes frozen in an expression of warmth and affection, his hand unnaturally still against Crowley's face.

Crowley's stomach clenched painfully, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow, his heart racing, as instantly he _knew_, a few moments before the magical alarm went off in his head with the instinctive knowledge that something supernatural was near the bookshop.

Gabriel was coming.

Five days had passed since Gabriel had visited the bookshop - to Aziraphale's knowledge, anyway.

Crowley knew that Gabriel had been to the bookshop twice since then, this being the third time.

The last time, Crowley hadn't seen it coming. He had been in the bedroom, Aziraphale in the living room. The alarm had gone off, and he'd rushed out to make sure Aziraphale had felt it as well.

He hadn't.

And Gabriel had been sitting right next to him, lounging on the sofa as if he owned it.

This time, Crowley had a little more warning.

He carefully extricated himself from Aziraphale's frozen embrace, removed his sunglasses and placed them on the coffee table, and then made his way swiftly toward the stairs. If this had to happen, he'd much rather it happen in the bookshop, safely away from Aziraphale, than here in the supposedly safe space that they shared.

He was halfway down the stairs when Gabriel appeared at the base of them, smiling up at him. He made a little circular turning motion with his hand, and Crowley turned, numbly, to go back up. By the time Gabriel reached the top, Crowley had already turned to face him - already sank to his knees, waiting.

Gabriel gave him a tolerant smile, before grabbing him roughly by his shirt in one hand and his hair in the other and dragging him up and into the living area, shoving him back down onto his knees just a few feet in front of Aziraphale.

"This is better," Gabriel declared, bright and confident. "Give Aziraphale a better view, right? If only he was looking the right way." Gabriel frowned, teasingly critical. "Wonder what he was looking at? And, you know… making out with." He smirked down at Crowley with a single raised eyebrow.

Crowley resisted the urge to look at Aziraphale. He knew the position he'd been left in was rather incriminating.

He wanted Gabriel's attention to stay focused on _him_.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, quiet and resigned.

Gabriel's lips pursed in annoyance at Crowley's demeanor, and he crouched down facing him, a tight, malicious smile on his lips. "I want you to show me those gorgeous wings, sweetheart."

A shiver went through Crowley, and his heart sank, despairing tears already burning in his eyes.

"_Please_," he whispered, shaking his bowed head.

His wings still hurt _so much_ from the last time.

Gabriel stood up, his expression losing all trace of humor and becoming hard and menacing as he stalked purposefully toward Aziraphale.

"_Wait_!" Crowley cried out, revealing his wings and choking back a cry of pain as they sprang into earthly existence.

Gabriel smiled, satisfied, and made his leisurely way back across the room to stand behind Crowley. The demon lowered his head, closing his eyes. He knew his wings were a nightmare now - far worse than they'd been when Aziraphale had brought him home. Huge patches of feathers had been ripped out, many of those that remained cracked and broken. The bare skin where the feathers had been was bruised and battered. From behind him, Gabriel grabbed Crowley's left wing, and Crowley couldn't stifle a plaintive moan of pain.

"You think you have _any say whatsoever_ in what happens here, Crowley?" Gabriel snarled, yanking hard and eliciting another pained, pleading yelp from his captive. "You don't. We do this when I want, and _where_ I want, for _as long_ as I want. And there is nothing anyone can do to stop me. Not you. Certainly not _him_."

Gabriel moved around in front of Crowley, without letting go of his wing, twisting it cruelly as he crouched down to face him, ignoring his increasingly desperate, gasping cries.

"What the hell are you still holding out for, sweetheart?" Gabriel demanded softly, shaking his head slowly with false sympathy, his free hand gentle against Crowley's trembling lips, jarring in contrast with the vicious pain his other hand was causing. "He's _useless_! He can't help you. Or himself. Or anyone. What's the point of all this? Just tell me the truth so we can all get on with things and you can stop suffering like this."

Crowley shook his head, tears dripping from his lowered eyes against the wooden floor. "But - I won't," he whispered.

"What's that?" Gabriel leaned in, frowning, and Crowley desperately regretted speaking aloud - but it was too late now.

"I won't," he repeated, barely louder. "You'll keep doing this. Keep - keep hurting me."

Gabriel nodded slowly, letting go of Crowley's wing at last as he took in his words. "Probably," he acknowledged with a little shrug. "Hmm." He frowned pensively, tapping a finger against his lips as if mulling it over, before clapping his hands once in front of Crowley's face with a beaming smile, as Crowley flinched.

"I know!" Gabriel declared. "Maybe you don't need to bother confessing at all. Maybe that's just - completely unnecessary at this point. Maybe - I just leave time stopped for a while and go pick up some Hellfire, right from under Beelzebub's frozen nose. Maybe I bring it back here, and… your precious angel never _has_ to stand trial." He grabbed the back of Crowley's neck and yanked him in close, biting off his remaining words, hard and menacing, in his ear. "Maybe this bookshop goes up in flames tonight - with Aziraphale in it. And his little illicit demon lover goes back to Heaven with me."

"No…" Crowley shook his head desperately, tears flowing freely now. "No, don't…"

Gabriel let him go with a harsh shove as he rose to his feet and started back toward Aziraphale. Crowley didn't think, just reacted, reaching out to grab at Gabriel's wrist and pull him back away from his angel. But he hadn't even made contact when the collar fired, shooting sparks of pain all through him and stopping his attempt.

As the punishment passed, Crowley slowly lifted his head from his shaking hands, gasping. And his blood turned to ice in his veins when he saw Gabriel crouched in front of him again, a cruel smile on his lips and pure, cold rage in his eyes.

"You were trying to hurt me," he observed with mild surprise overlaying his anger.

"No," Crowley insisted, pleading. "I j-just… didn't want you to hurt _him_…"

"Oh, but you intended it to hurt. You _wanted_ it to." Gabriel pointed an accusing finger at Crowley. "Or the collar wouldn't have gone off. You wanted to protect him so bad… that you actually just tried to hurt me."

He stood up slowly, towering over the trembling, terrified demon. He was still for a moment, staring down at him in disgust and anger - before drawing back his fist and bringing it down, hard, across Crowley's face. He followed the blow with several more, until Crowley was slumped on his side on the floor, his face already swelling, already bruising from the force of the beating. His head felt fuzzy, black spots dancing before his eyes, when Gabriel dragged him back up onto his knees again.

"You want to protect him so bad? How about this?" Gabriel suggested, soft and enticing. "You confess… tell me _everything_… and I grant him a pardon."

Crowley just blinked at him, his thoughts still muddled, not quite sure he was hearing right.

"Yeah," Gabriel confirmed with an encouraging nod. "Temptation's your thing, right? And he's fairly naive. So he slipped up." His tone was one of sympathetic understanding. "Doesn't have to be the end of the world. You tell me the truth - and I _don't_ punish Aziraphale. I punish _you_," he amended with a little half-shrug and a grimace. "But then… eventually… I let you die." It scared Crowley how appealing the offer still sounded. "How's _that_ for a deal?" His used-car-salesman grin faded a little as he added, "Best one you're gonna get."

Crowley stayed quiet for a few moments, willing the aching haze in his head to pass. His wings hurt. His face hurt. He wanted it all to be over. He wanted Aziraphale to be safe. His head was a little hazy from too many blows - but he still knew better than to accept.

"No," he whispered, his words a little slurred, a little distorted, half of his face badly swollen. "You - you won't keep a promise to me."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "I won't? Why not?"

Crowley looked up at him, bitter resentment in his eyes as he echoed Gabriel's own words back to him. "Because I'm a slave. I'm entitled to _nothing_. You can tell me what you want, to _get _what you want - but you'd _never_ grant him mercy."

Gabriel seemed surprised - impressed, even. He moved in, close and swift, crouching down next to Crowley, and Crowley flinched away from the hand that cupped the less-bruised side of his face, pulling him in so that Gabriel could kiss his temple… then his cheek… then his throat. Crowley shivered, desperately trying to turn his head away, but Gabriel held him fast.

"You know me well, sweetheart," he whispered. He gripped Crowley's hair with his hand, jerking hard and smiling against Crowley's cheek when he bit back a whimper. His voice went hard and menacing as he added, "So you'd think you'd know better by now than to look me in the eye."

Crowley closed his eyes, tried to lower his head, but Gabriel had him too close, too tight. "I'm s-sorry," he whispered. "Please, I'm sorry…"

Gabriel ignored his pleas, sliding his free hand under the back of Crowley's shirt. Crowley winced and shook his head pleadingly, but Gabriel's hand on his face just tightened, refusing to let him pull away as he pressed his thumb into the mark on Crowley's back, smiling against his throat when he broke down, sobbing.

"You know what this means, sweetheart?" Gabriel asked, his voice hushed and private. "It means that whatever pathetic thing you two have going? Whatever it is you think you're _protecting_?" He fairly spat out the word in Crowley's face, and he flinched. "It's _nothing_. It's meaningless. Because you are _mine_. _Forever. That's_ what it means." He shook Crowley a little, his thumb digging in hard to the spot at the base of his spine, and Crowley could _feel_ the smoldering heat of his rage, the menace behind his words. "_Say it_," he demanded.

"Yours," Crowley choked out, tears spilling from his closed eyes. "I'm yours… _please_…"

"Damn right," Gabriel snapped.

He ignored the demon's tears, his desperate plea, and turned him so that he was facing Aziraphale again. And Crowley knew what came next. Gabriel made a point of this, every time. Before Aziraphale's frozen, unseeing eyes, he kissed Crowley's mouth, slow and deliberate and possessive, forcing his way in and holding Crowley too tight to allow him to pull away.

Not that he would have dared to try, at this point.

When Gabriel withdrew at last, Crowley was utterly wrecked - shaking, sobbing, his face streaked with blood and tears, bruised and swollen. He couldn't help flinching when Gabriel reached for his face again - but it was only to run a gentle hand across his cheek, healing the bruises and the swelling he'd left there with his fist. He then passed his hand over the stretch of floor where they'd been, and any trace of blood or scrap of torn feathers vanished as well.

Crowley's wings, he left as they were. They both knew Aziraphale wasn't going to see them.

Crowley knew better than to let that happen.

Gabriel ran his hand along Crowley's wing one more time, almost wistfully, and Crowley tried - and failed - to suppress his shudder as Gabriel leaned in over his shoulder.

"You can put them away now, sweetheart." He stood up straight. "I'll give you a few minutes to get back into - whatever the Hell _that_ was." He waved a disgusted hand toward Aziraphale. "Then I'll start time back up." He headed toward the door, calling over his shoulder, not even looking back at Crowley, "Until next time."

He was gone as quickly as he'd arrived.

Feeling cold and numb and bereft, Crowley rose slowly to his feet. His wings throbbed, and he felt sick, and his eyes burned with fresh tears - but he knew he didn't have much time. He went to the living area and retrieved his sunglasses, putting them back on his face, and then carefully climbed back into his angel's arms, wrapping his arm across Aziraphale's stomach as it had been, doing his best to stifle his tears.

He tilted his face up toward his angel, as it had been in the moment after Aziraphale had kissed him. Crowley's heart ached at the oblivious joy and warmth he saw on his love's face.

He was so very, very alone.

"-attention." Aziraphale's warm eyes came to life, and he kissed Crowley again, his lips soft and gentle as he tilted his head against Crowley's brow with a regretful sigh. "But not for long, I'm afraid, darling. I could take a little time, but… I really must keep working if I'm going to get us out of this."

"I understand." Crowley nodded, lowering his head against Aziraphale's chest, eyes angled downward. It was a relief, really. He no longer wanted Aziraphale's focused attention, not now - not when he didn't think he could keep it together much longer. He really should have gone to the bedroom, he thought - but he couldn't bear the idea of being away from Aziraphale right now. He needed to hold him, to feel his warmth, to know that he was still here and alive and all right.

"You always do, my darling, and I love you for it," Aziraphale said with soft affection, his hand running tenderly through Crowley's hair, soothing the ghost of the ache from Gabriel's rough, dominating grip, as he reached with his other hand to retrieve his book, and laid it open on his lap. "One day this will be over, and we'll have all the time in the world."

Crowley was thankful for his glasses, that hid the tears welling up in his eyes, as much at Aziraphale's naive optimism as at his breathtaking tenderness. In the wake of Gabriel's brutality, it was more than he could bear. He clung to his angel in silence, blinking back his tears, trying to stop their falling, but one escaped and caught on the lower edge of the right lens of his glasses. He watched with dismay as it slid slowly down the edge of the lens, and then fell onto the page of Aziraphale's book.

Aziraphale went very still, though this time Crowley could feel that it was a natural sort of stillness - could hear the soft intake of his breath, could feel his heartbeat under his hand.

"Crowley." Aziraphale's voice was very soft, very cautious. "Darling, are you all right?"

Crowley didn't know how he was supposed to pretend that he was. He couldn't.

He turned his face to bury it against Aziraphale's chest, shaking his head and clinging to his angel.

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale's arms wrapped around Crowley, one cupping the back of his head, the other around his shoulders, his voice, his touch, unbearably gentle. "Tell me, love, what is it? What can I do?"

"I don't know." Crowley's words were broken, like every other part of him. "I don't know," he cried helplessly.

It wasn't _exactly_ a lie, and he couldn't possibly tell Aziraphale any more than that.

Aziraphale in his infinite optimism and naive trust, accepted it as a perfectly valid answer.

"That's all right," he assured Crowley in hushed, soothing tones, as he pressed Crowley to sit up a little, just enough so that he could turn and pull both legs up onto the sofa. "There we are, come this way a little… yes, there, that's better…" He gently maneuvered them until Crowley was lying between his legs, his head resting on Aziraphale's chest.

"It's all right not to know," he told Crowley, running his fingers through his hair, stroking his back. "We don't always know why, and that's fine. I'm here, Crowley. I'm right here, my darling."

And for a few brief moments, the only ones he knew he had, Crowley allowed himself to focus on the feeling of Aziraphale's fingers gently scratching against his scalp, the warmth of Aziraphale's arms around him, and tried to shut out the dark torment of memories that weren't even yet old enough to be called memories at all.


	19. Chapter 19

_There was only one other time that Crowley could remember experiencing such pure and utter suffering._

_He was _lost _in it, consumed completely. _

_Every part of him, from his flesh to his wings to his very soul, was burning with an intensity that overwhelmed him, bright and sharp and brittle, flames ripping through him and roaring all around him. He could feel his skin crackling and peeling away, his blood boiling under his skin, sulfurous smoke filling his lungs and choking him. _

_He had been cast out. _

_Guilty, unworthy, he'd been utterly and eternally rejected. He'd been thrown away like so much vile refuse, by the family he loved, by… by… _

"_Aziraphale?" he cried out, desperately confused. "Angel, please, where are you?"_

_Aziraphale didn't answer… and he didn't come. _

He's given up on you, too… gave you up… told you.

And why wouldn't he? Filthy thing, fallen and unworthy and evil…

_Crowley's heart shattered at the realization of the loss of the last and only one he held dear, deep, rending sobs torn from his chest as the pain overwhelmed him - the heat, the flames, the depth of darkness of being separated, alone - forever. But it was for the best, for Aziraphale's best. _

_How could he even _touch _his angel without corrupting him, when the corruption was pouring, molten and living, through his veins? _

_He didn't know how long he'd been suffering here - folded over his knees on the floor, face against the stone that didn't feel cool anymore, but rather searing hot. Every muscle was taut with pain, every breath raw agony, like inhaling shattered glass. He was burning, burning, but never consumed. It felt like eternity - and perhaps it was. Perhaps this was it, his never-ending punishment for being what he was… _

Filthy seducer… liar… ungrateful, defiant little slave who doesn't know his place, can't do anything right…

"_Admit it, Crowley…" Gabriel's voice whispered, and Crowley shivered, withdrawing instinctively from the sound. "Say it. Accept it." _

_Gabriel's voice sounded surprisingly low and close, like he was right down on the floor with Crowley. He didn't know how long Gabriel had been there, how long he'd been talking to him, sometimes quietly leading, sometimes urgently pushing. He didn't even know which words were his own._

_He wasn't quite sure that mattered, anymore. _

_He cringed when Gabriel grabbed his arms and pulled him up, leaning into his face. His nerves were raw agony where Gabriel touched him, and he could barely focus as the archangel leaned in close to his ear._

"_Say it," Gabriel repeated, urgent, almost pleading. "Come on, Crowley. Accept what you are - what I am to you." His hands became gentler, one running through Crowley's hair - softer, soothing, but still leaving streaks of fire in its wake. His voice was encouraging, almost kind. "Say it, and this can stop. I can stop it, and I will. Just surrender, sweetheart…"_

_Crowley stayed silent. He knew he needed to stay silent. _

_He couldn't begin to remember why. _

_Gabriel sighed - and then let go of Crowley, letting him fall to the floor again. His hand rested against Crowley's sweat-soaked head, still gentle, regretful, before he rose to his feet and headed for the door. And with every step he took away from Crowley, panic took hold of the demon. He couldn't bear another moment of the heat, the shame, the suffocating alone-ness. He heard the creak of the cell door opening, and choked out the single word in desperation. _

"_M-Master!" _

_All was still and silent for a long moment - and then the door creaked closed again, and Gabriel's footsteps returned, heavy and slow. He knelt down on the floor facing Crowley and took hold of his shoulders, pulling his head down against Gabriel's knees - firm and insistent, not giving him a choice about it, but not seeking to hurt him, either. _

_Gabriel's hand reached out to touch the collar - and the pain swiftly receded. It wasn't gone in an instant; it faded out gradually, leaving in its wake violent tremors that shook Crowley's body, shook him until he felt he'd be shaken apart. The sobs that had been lodged in his chest forced their way out, choking him as he hid his face against Gabriel's knees. _

"_Thank you…" Broken words torn from his lips between his sobs. "I-I'm s-s-sorry, thank you, I'm sorry…" _

_Gabriel's hands were soft in his hair, on the bare skin of his back, sliding across the upper reaches of his wings - gentle and reassuring, shockingly comforting. _

"_That's it, sweetheart," he soothed him, hushed and affectionate. "That's better. That's all I wanted." _

_He let Crowley stay there until the tremors had faded and the pain had passed. Then his hand in Crowley's hair became firm again, dragging him up so that they were face to face. His voice hardened, stern and warning. _

"_Say it again," he commanded. "What are you, Crowley?" _

_The deep, wrenching sobs had passed, but Crowley was still weeping softly. "Y-your slave," he cried. "Yours." _

_Gabriel smiled, letting out a deep sigh of relief. His tone softened as he asked, "And what does that make me?" _

"_Master," Crowley choked out. "You're - you're my master." _

"_Very good." Gabriel released his grip on Crowley's hair, sliding his hand down to touch his face, almost tender as he brushed his tears away. _

_There'd been nothing but pain for so long - nothing but endless agony and degradation, and the darkness of Crowley's own memories, memories of shame and loneliness and loss. He was vile and evil and unworthy… but Gabriel's hand was gentle and comforting - the first gentle touch he'd felt in a long, long time - and Crowley found himself leaning gratefully into it, like the fragile tendrils of a plant seeking the sunlight… even as Gabriel pulled his hand away. _

_Crowley bowed his head against Gabriel's knees again, his trembling hands reaching out to touch. _

"_I'm sorry," he sobbed softly, again and again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"_

"_I know you are." Gabriel's voice was low and patient, as he stroked Crowley's hair again. "You can't help being what you are. You're just a demon, Crowley. Eventually, even Aziraphale saw that." _

_Crowley flinched, but didn't pull away, even as what was left of his heart shattered into agonizing shards in his chest. _

My angel, he's better off without me, better off far away from this, far away from my corruption and filth…

"_He decided you weren't worthy of all that he'd be giving up. And… you're _not_." Gabriel spoke the words with sympathy and affection. "You're _not _worthy, Crowley. You never could be. That's why he threw you away." He was quiet for a moment, before continuing, a promise in his words. "But I _won't _throw you away. I'm going to keep you. I'm going to help you. Help you learn your place. Help you have a purpose. Are you going to let me? Are you going to let me help you, sweetheart?" _

_Crowley nodded against Gabriel's knees, sobbing out, broken and desperate, "Yes, Master…"_

Something was terribly wrong with Crowley.

It'd started with Gabriel's visit to the bookshop, and gotten progressively worse from there. Crowley was increasingly withdrawn - quieter, more nervous and skittish. At first, Aziraphale had wondered if Crowley was angry with him, for not listening to his advice about setting the collar a little higher, for putting him in a position to be hurt by Gabriel again.

But he'd insisted that he wasn't, he didn't blame Aziraphale, and not to worry about it.

"It was just for a few seconds, angel, I've had _loads_ worse."

There was nothing about that statement that made Aziraphale feel even the least bit better.

But Crowley would come and sit with Aziraphale on the sofa and cuddle up to him, seeking warmth and comfort. He would curl around him in the bed at night and hold onto him and kiss him in the mornings… and afternoons, and evenings, and pretty much _all the time_… so despite his own guilt over the bookshop incident, it was impossible for Aziraphale to hold onto the idea that Crowley was angry with him.

He'd just… stopped talking.

Just when it seemed that he'd finally started to open up a little bit, to talk to Aziraphale about some of what he'd been through in Heaven - Crowley had abruptly stopped, promptly shutting down any time Aziraphale tried to ask him what was wrong, or why he was so quiet, or what was he thinking about?

Crowley just insisted that he was fine, Aziraphale was overreacting, everything was _fine_.

Aziraphale didn't want to push him - so he accepted it on the outside, while worrying away at it in his head.

One afternoon, Aziraphale made his way down to the shop to retrieve a few books he wanted - ancient texts he'd hidden away in a dark, deserted corner of the shop where no one ever looked, books on angelic law and customs.

For the moment, the collar appeared to be a dead end. Aziraphale had decided instead to look for some sort of Heavenly legal precedent that might protect Crowley, or at least offer him some recourse from the type of abuse Gabriel had inflicted. Perhaps there might be some sort of means for Aziraphale to take responsibility for Crowley - to take him under his protection, somehow.

With a heavy stack of books in tow, Aziraphale made his way carefully back up the stairs.

Before he even reached the top, he could hear Crowley yelling. No, not yelling. _Screaming_, furious, angrier than Aziraphale had ever heard him.

Alarmed, Aziraphale set the books down as quickly as he could and headed toward the sound of Crowley's raised, enraged voice - coming from the kitchen.

That was where he found him, standing near the window, his back to Aziraphale, holding his little plant - once again withered and fading - in his hand, and berating it.

"You _utterly useless_ little piece of _shit_!" he screamed at it, shaking it. "I've given you _everything_ you need! Why do you keep doing this? I try and I try and I take care of you, and all you do is _fail me_ at _every_ turn! I'm sick to death of your pathetic wilting and _spots_ and _lies_! Why can't you just _be better_?"

All at once Crowley spun around and hurled the potted plant across the room, where it shattered against the wall just behind Aziraphale's head. Crowley's eyes went wide when he saw Aziraphale, and he took a step backward, lowering his gaze as he reached for his sunglasses on the counter and picked them up.

Aziraphale did his best to keep his reaction easy and casual. "Your plant's been lying to you, has it?" he remarked, his tone mild. "Sneaky little bugger."

Crowley didn't laugh, didn't even smile - just rolled his eyes at Aziraphale with the sort of vicious disgust usually reserved for Aziraphale's magic act, before pointedly putting his sunglasses on and turning away. If it had been under any other circumstances, Aziraphale would have been pleased to see a bit of the old Crowley return. As it was, he approached cautiously, feeling more and more uncertain as Crowley visibly tensed, the nearer he got. Still, he reached out a careful hand, his fingers brushing against Crowley's in an invitation.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Crowley jerked away from him, rounding on him and snarling, "Do I _ever_ want to talk about it? _No_! Just _leave me the fuck alone_!" And Crowley slid past him without touching him at all and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him hard enough that the walls rattled, and the top book on the admittedly hastily made stack Aziraphale had just set on the coffee table fell off onto the floor.

Crowley had barely closed the door behind him when the panic set in.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, clutching at his hair and trying to catch his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears.

_No, no, no, what is wrong with you? Why would you _do _that? _

Aziraphale literally hadn't done _anything_, but to walk into the room.

_And to bloody _care _about you. Don't forget that. What an unforgivable offense. _

_You absolute fucking monster. _

Aziraphale was only trying to help. He'd walked in on Crowley _absolutely fucking losing it,_ and naturally had tried to reach out - and Crowley had screamed at him and insulted him and locked him out of his own bedroom. Aziraphale hadn't done anything wrong.

Crowley was the one who was a complete failure.

_Useless little fuck-up, you don't deserve him. All the effort he's putting into you, 's not worth it._

He got up, paced toward the door - and then back again - and then back to the door, his hand hovering over the handle for a moment, before he withdrew it. He bit his lip, frowning for a moment, before he reached over and unlocked the door, at least. If Aziraphale wanted in, he had the right.

If Aziraphale wanted to slap him down for his utterly unacceptable behavior… he had _that_ right, too.

Crowley wanted to go out there and apologize, and attempt to offer some explanation that would soothe his angel and make it clear that this was on _Crowley_, not Aziraphale. But not the truth. No, he couldn't lay that on Aziraphale, not when it would put him in even greater danger, and there was _absolutely nothing_ he could do about it. Crowley couldn't do that - not to his dear, sweet angel who'd given _everything_ for him, to help him.

His cowardice won out, and Crowley returned to the bed, lying down on his stomach on top of the blankets, slamming his face down into the pillow - a move which was slightly painful, given the placement of his sunglasses. He rose up just enough to snatch them off of his face and hurl them off the side of the bed, before lying down again, his fists clenched in either side of the pillow as he buried his face in it and released a hoarse, muffled scream of frustration.

He lay there for a while, agonizing - until there was a soft knock on the door. Aziraphale opened it just a little, just enough to peek inside. His voice was soft, almost timid.

"May I come in?"

"Your room, isn't it?" Crowley retorted, sullen, angry.

_Why? Why are you doing this? Aziraphale doesn't deserve this, what is _wrong _with you?_

_He should just throw _you _against the wall, throw _you _away…_

He looked up as Aziraphale approached, too ashamed to meet his angel's eyes - and was surprised to see what Aziraphale was carrying in his hands. His little plant with its brilliantly blooming tiny purple flowers, its leaves vibrant and green, carefully repotted in a dark green clay pot. His gaze followed it as Aziraphale crossed the room and set it down on the nightstand, in place of the softly glowing angelic night-light that rested there. Without a word, he turned to Crowley, sitting down on the edge of the bed and placing the light in Crowley's hands.

_He tried to comfort you, and you wouldn't let him touch you, _Crowley realized, his throat closing up, tears in his eyes. _So he's offering you comfort anyway. Completely touching-free. _Crowley swallowed against the ache in his throat, closed his eyes and lowered his head, holding the light close against his chest.

"You should be a little more patient with it." Aziraphale's voice was soft and mild. "And… forgive it, for its… weakness."

Crowley looked up, a little confused, and Aziraphale offered him a warm smile, nodding toward the plant on the nightstand, focusing his gaze on it as he spoke.

"What _you_ see as weakness, I should say," he amended. "If you were to ask me, I'd say it's actually… extraordinarily strong. It's been through an awful lot, you know." He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was hushed and thick with emotion. "It was… so very alone. For so very long. It very nearly didn't make it at all. And - now it's trying, dear. I know it is. It just needs… a little more time. A little more love and patience. The chance to rest, and get well, and know that its suffering is over."

Crowley bit his lip, stifling a sob, his shoulders trembling as he let go of Aziraphale's light with one hand, to extend that hand toward the angel himself. Aziraphale didn't even look at him as he reached his own hand out and took it, stroking his thumb slowly, soothingly, across the back of Crowley's hand.

"If it's just… not in you to offer that at the moment, love," Aziraphale continued softly. "That patience, that… forgiveness - I understand. I'll offer it for you. Until you can." He finally, cautiously, turned to meet Crowley's eyes, such a depth of warmth and compassion in his own that at last Crowley's tears spilled over, as Aziraphale whispered, "_You've_ been through an awful lot, too."

Crowley couldn't speak, couldn't even begin to find words. His tears flowed thick and fast down his face, his emotions swiftly overwhelming him. He tossed the little glowy nightlight down onto the floor, somewhere in the general vicinity of where his glasses had landed, before turning and burying his face in his angel's lap.

"We're doing our fair share of tossing things about today, aren't we?" Aziraphale's tone was mild, affectionate. "You aren't going to hug me for a bit, then toss me out of the bed too, are you?"

Crowley's response was to wrap his arms around Aziraphale's waist, holding onto him tight as he wept. Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley's shoulders, his embrace firm and supportive, his fingers sliding soothingly through Crowley's hair. He was quiet for a long time before he spoke again, hushed and patient.

"What can I do, my dear?" he asked. "Please tell me."

Crowley just shook his head for a few moments before lifting it just a little, just enough to speak. "Just this," he whispered, clutching Aziraphale tighter. "Please, angel, just… just this."

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. "All right," he agreed at last, settling in a bit more comfortably on the bed and just holding his demon close, until his tears subsided and he drifted off into a troubled, restless sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

_The sound of measured, heavy footsteps approaching the cell door drew Crowley from a fitful, restless sleep. _

_Any sleep at all was a rare mercy, but far more likely the past few days, since Gabriel had turned the collar down from level 10 to level 01 - and left it there. He still came into Crowley's cell to use his body, to test his obedience - but when he left, he left only quiet static in his wake, in place of the relentless pain he'd always set the collar to inflict before. _

_At the sound of the archangel's approach, Crowley moved closer to the door, to the place he knew Gabriel would want to find him. He slid to his knees, lowered his head, hands crossed behind his back. His heart lurched as the door opened and Gabriel stepped inside - silent, just watching him for a long moment. _

_Then he closed the distance between them, crouching down to face Crowley and reaching out a hand to touch his face. Crowley closed his eyes, swallowed hard, but didn't move, didn't flinch - utterly submissive to the contact. Gabriel's thumb stroked gently across his cheek, and he could hear the smile in the archangel's voice, as he instinctively leaned just slightly into the touch. _

"_Very good, Crowley. I'm very pleased with you." _

_Crowley allowed himself to feel a tentative sense of relief. He knew well that just because Gabriel was pleased didn't mean he wouldn't be hurt. But these past few days, he'd tried _so hard _\- hadn't talked back, hadn't resisted anything Gabriel had tried to do to him, hadn't broken any of Gabriel's rules. He'd been a perfectly obedient little slave. _

_And Gabriel had not hurt him. _

_Well, not enough to count, really. There was the testing, of course. Gabriel would do something to cause him pain, just to see if he would stay in position, to see if he would dare try to resist - which he didn't, not anymore. Gabriel also seemed to have an unhealthy preoccupation with pulling Crowley's hair, or tugging at his wings while he fucked him. _

_And of course _that _usually hurt, too. The fucking. _

_But Crowley hadn't been punished again since the level 10 punishment. Gabriel was pleased with him - and that had to be better than the alternative._

"_You've been so good, sweetheart," Gabriel said, soft, reassuring. "I have a reward for you." _

_Crowley's mouth went dry. His heart raced with alarm. Gabriel had never offered him a reward of any kind before. There was only more pain, or less pain. Whatever this "reward" was, he was sure it was at least equally likely to be something terrible, as to be anything he would even remotely enjoy._

"_Stand." Gabriel rose and stepped back, giving Crowley room to obey. _

_It felt… strange. _

_His body was slighter than Gabriel's but they were about the same height, and it felt… _wrong_, to be standing eye to eye with the archangel. Crowley felt deeply unsettled; he'd become accustomed to being on the floor, on his knees. His stomach lurched when Gabriel moved close to him, a heavy hand gripping the back of his neck, his voice a low, menacing growl in Crowley's ear. _

"_You will continue to behave yourself." It was a statement, not a request. "You will not run, or try to fight. You will keep your eyes on the floor, and come with me." _

_Crowley nodded hurriedly, his eyes carefully turned down. "Yes, master." _

_Gabriel smiled, using his grip to pull Crowley in closer and kiss his temple, before releasing his neck to brush an affectionate hand through his hair. _

"_You have no idea how much I love the sound of that." _

_Gabriel took a firm hold on Crowley's arm and led him from the cell into the brightly lit hallway beyond it. Crowley didn't look up, but noticed that it still appeared empty, as empty as the day when Crowley had attempted his escape. Perhaps this particular area of Heaven was _usually _unoccupied. It made sense that Gabriel would keep him far away from the more populated areas._

_He wouldn't have wanted anyone to be bothered by Crowley's screams - back when he had still dared to scream._

_They turned a corner, and the bright white light gave way to a softer glow, white tile to beige carpet. Gabriel led Crowley down a long hallway with doors on either side, until he stopped at the last one on the left, and took out a key to unlock the door before pushing Crowley, not too roughly, inside. _

_The room was softly lit with several fixed lamps. There was a sink against one wall, with a mirror behind it, and a few clean towels stacked on a shelf beneath it. There was soft, thick carpet under Crowley's bare feet. A full sized bed was against the wall to his left, dressed with thick blankets and several pillows. The air in the room was warm, a sharp contrast to the ever-present chill of his stone cell. _

_As Gabriel let go of him and turned to close and lock the door behind them, Crowley sank to his knees, waiting, his heart in his throat. He had no idea why they were here, what Gabriel intended. _

_He glanced uneasily toward the bed. It was probably a strong clue as to the answer. _

_He suppressed a shiver when Gabriel's strong hands came to rest on his bare shoulders, his thumbs massaging lightly. "Well?" he asked, his voice soft, expectant. "What do you think?" _

_Crowley swallowed slowly, desperately afraid of getting the answer wrong. At last he admitted, "I - I don't know." He hesitated a moment before venturing to ask, "What do you want me to do?" _

_Gabriel laughed a little, his hands squeezing Crowley's shoulders a little harder, but not enough to cause any pain. "I want you to relax, for one…"_

_Crowley didn't think that was possible._

"_And… maybe show a little appreciation?" Gabriel suggested, deceptively mild. "This is yours. Your new room." _

_Crowley blinked, bewildered, as he looked around the room again. It was far too comfortable, more like a bedroom than a cell. But - Gabriel _had _said he was getting a reward. His voice was hesitant, uncertain._

"_From now on?"_

"_Until you do something to deserve a different one." The slight edge to Gabriel's voice told Crowley that he meant the statement to be interpreted both ways - as if perhaps Crowley might earn an even greater reward, if he continued to please his master - or be slammed back into his dark, cold cell, if he didn't. _

_The silence was weighted, expectant, and Crowley's heart clenched when he realized, in his surprise, he'd nearly forgotten Gabriel's veiled command. _

Right. Appreciation…

"_Thank you, master," he said softly, bowing his head. _

_He waited for Gabriel to move around to face him - to demand some more physical expression of his appreciation - but Gabriel just stroked his hair again, soothing and gentle, before turning to the door and leaving him alone in the room. The sound of the key in the lock was loud in the stillness._

_Crowley tested the sink - actual running water, both hot and cold. He had not been provided with a glass to drink from - angels and demons didn't strictly require sustenance, after all - but Crowley used his cupped hands to drink cold water from the tap, relishing the soothing coolness on his dry, aching throat. He examined his reflection in the mirror, startled by how thin and pale he looked, by the dull, messy state of his hair - short when he'd been taken, now hanging to his shoulders. He took a few minutes to wash up as best he could with a warm, wet towel. He walked the small perimeter of the room, becoming acquainted with it. _

_He didn't go near the bed. _

_As warm and inviting as it looked, as much as he would have loved the comfort of a soft bed after so long attempting to rest on hard stone, Crowley was fairly certain that the bed was a trap - just another means for Gabriel to hurt him. When he grew tired, Crowley slept on the floor, as he'd become accustomed to doing. The carpet was far softer than what he was used to, anyway, and it was easy to drift off in the warm air that surrounded him. _

_When Gabriel returned to the room, Crowley was certain: this was it, the real reason for this room. _

_Gabriel wanted to rape his slave in comfort. _

_But Gabriel didn't go near the bed, either. He pushed Crowley up against the wall, his strong hands as greedy and grasping as ever, mouth claiming Crowley's throat, marking his skin, as he lifted him up, pressed between his own body and the wall, and fucked him. Crowley was confused when he left again - without really hurting him. He'd been nowhere near as rough or violent as usual. _

_That night, Crowley fell asleep on the floor again, but this time with his back against the side of the bed, allowing his head to rest on the mattress, which was every bit as soft and inviting as he'd thought it would be. So warm… so tempting. _

_He _wanted _it. _

_The next time, Gabriel took him on the floor. Then against the wall, again. He'd come to Crowley's room, again and again, and take what he wanted from him - force him to endure his rigorous tests of obedience and submission - but he wasn't so brutal as before. He didn't hurt him as much. _

_And he never went near Crowley's bed. _

_It was _his_. It was really his. _

_When Crowley dared to sit on it for a little while - then to cautiously pull back the blankets and nestle down inside of it - he half-expected Gabriel to slam the door open and come barging in to triumphantly take this from him, as he'd taken everything else. _

_But he didn't. Nothing bad happened. _

_And Crowley _slept_. _

_Better than he'd slept since that last night in Aziraphale's apartment, Crowley slept. His badly injured wings began to heal more quickly, now that he could rest, and Crowley's situation became more tolerable than it had been since his capture. Gabriel still came into his room on a regular basis, still used him as he chose - but he left the bed to Crowley. It was a safe place, a haven in the midst of his own personal hell. He could rest, he could forget, he could _dream_. _

_He dreamed of Aziraphale - and not only when he was asleep. _

_He closed his eyes and imagined that it was Aziraphale's bed, back in the apartment over the bookshop. He remembered the sunlight filtering through the window onto his face, the smell of tea and old books, the heat of Aziraphale's arms wrapped around him. If he really lost himself in the memories, really focused on the sensations, he could almost pretend that it was reality - almost._

_How he _ached _for home - for his angel. _

_But… this was not as horrible as it had been. This was better, he told himself, until he almost believed it. This was better._

_Then one day, the floor dropped out from beneath his feet, when Gabriel whispered in his ear, low and enticing as he pressed his body up against the wall, _

"_Don't you think you'd be a little more comfortable in the bed?" _

_Crowley felt sick. The bed was _his_. The only safe place he had left. _

"_Th-this is okay," he replied, very, very careful and quiet. "I-I'm okay…"_

"_Yeah, but… wouldn't you rather be in the nice, soft bed than here?" Gabriel persisted, his words carrying a false note of concern. _

_Crowley's heart raced. Gabriel's phrasing was odd - making it about Crowley's comfort, about what Crowley wanted. He swallowed slowly, against the ache in his throat, closing his eyes as he whispered, "D-do I have a choice?" He braced himself for punishment, flinching a little when Gabriel's hand rose - but only to brush through his hair, soothing. _

"_Sure you do," he said, deceptively soft. "It was a gift. It's yours." _

_Crowley was absolutely terrified. It was a trap, it was definitely some kind of a trap. But - he couldn't bring himself to hand over that safe space, his little corner, to Gabriel of his own volition._

"_Then… no," he whispered at last, flinching as the word left his lips - a word he wasn't allowed to voice. "Not there." He closed his eyes, adding a soft, desperate, "_Please_." _

_Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his hand leaving Crowley's hair, both hands pressing him up against the wall. Crowley didn't dare look at the archangel, but could feel the tension in his grip, felt his rising fury._

"_Fine," he snapped, terse and cold. _

_Crowley bit back an apology - because an apology would lead to a surrender, and if he had a choice, if he could possibly hold onto the bed and what it had come to mean to him - he would. _

_Gabriel's hands were harsh and biting, his pace more violent than it had been in weeks. Crowley knew there'd be bruises later - on his arms, on his back where it hit the wall, on his thighs. Gabriel kept up a punishing, forceful rhythm until he finished, and then slammed Crowley into the wall with breathtaking force as he finally let him go. _

_Crowley crumpled to the floor with a gasp of pain, as Gabriel zipped his pants up and stalked angrily toward the door. He stopped before he reached it, turning to face Crowley again. Crowley flinched as Gabriel crouched in front of him, trapping him between the wall behind him and Gabriel's cold, barely restrained fury._

"_It's not as if he's ever going to share it with you," he pointed out, quietly vicious. "Your precious Aziraphale."_

_Crowley winced, closing his eyes, nodding slowly. "I know." _

"_He _doesn't want you_," Gabriel snarled. "He never did." _

"_I know," Crowley repeated, tears sliding down his face. _

_He didn't want to think about Aziraphale, not now, not with Gabriel looming over him in furious menace, not with Gabriel's come drying on his thighs. He stayed there, quiet and still and submissive to Gabriel's cruel words, until the archangel finally left, slamming the door and locking it behind him._

_Feeling numb and empty and scared, Crowley finally pulled himself to his feet and limped across the room to the sink, where he wet a towel and carefully began to clean himself up. He looked down at the towel, his heart sinking with a slowly creeping sense of dread - the sense that something had just started, that could only end badly. _

_It was the first time since giving him this room that Gabriel had left him bleeding. _

_It would not be the last. _

Crowley was in the kitchen tending to his plant when the warning alarm went off.

He turned and hurried toward the living room, expecting to find Aziraphale frozen in his seat at his desk where he'd been studying. Instead, Aziraphale met him in the kitchen doorway, fully aware, catching Crowley by the arms and looking him in the eye with immediate, intent reassurance.

"It's going to be all right," he told him firmly.

The words were meaningless. Crowley nodded anyway.

Aziraphale's regretful gaze fell on the collar, before he sadly met Crowley's eyes. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, his hand on the dial.

Crowley shook his head, dismissive, accepting. "If you have to hurt me so he doesn't, it's all right," he insisted, calm and reassuring. "It's better if it's you."

Crowley was fairly certain it wasn't going to be a matter of choice between the two. Gabriel was going to hurt him, either way.

They went into the living area, where Aziraphale sat on the sofa, and Crowley knelt on the floor at his feet, while he took a book from the coffee table - a perfectly innocent novel that had nothing at all to do with angels or electronics of any kind. The books he'd been researching were in a messy stack under the coffee table, blending in too well with the other messy stacks of books scattered around the room to be of any interest to Gabriel.

Crowley removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table, as he'd become accustomed to doing when Gabriel came. It was better than allowing Gabriel to handle them. He glanced up, feeling self-conscious and a little "caught" when he saw the troubled frown on Aziraphale's face. Before the angel could question his actions, however, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"Excuse me!" Aziraphale protested when Gabriel entered the living room. "There's a doorbell, and this is my home!"

"Heaven is your home." Gabriel's smile was wide and bright and false. "And this is important, Aziraphale. It can't wait. There's something you need to know."

His piercing gaze turned on Crowley, who immediately looked away, instinctively pressing back against the sofa beside him in response to the vindictive anticipation he saw on the archangel's face. If the collar would have allowed it, Crowley would have altered his form and hidden beneath it.

"Seems you've been sleeping - or some other stupid, pointless, human activity - on the job," Gabriel accused Aziraphale, reaching into his inside coat pocket. "Because your little demon prisoner here's been getting all around London lately."

He handed Aziraphale two photographs, and the angel took them with a suspicious frown.

"Just what are you going to _do_ about that?" Gabriel demanded.

Crowley couldn't see the pictures from where he was kneeling, but he guessed they were of him, out and about near recognizable London landmarks. He hadn't been anywhere without Aziraphale - they all three knew it. But Crowley also knew how easy it would be for someone with Gabriel's power to create false photographs - false evidence in order to force Aziraphale's hand.

He could feel a slight tremor in Aziraphale's leg where he was pressed up against it, could hear the tension in his voice.

"That is completely impossible," the angel declared. "He couldn't have gone anywhere unattended. He's been with me the entire time."

"The _entire_ time, huh?"

Gabriel's tone was as blatantly nasty and accusing as Crowley had ever heard it when Aziraphale was conscious and aware enough to recognize it. Crowley's heart pounded in his chest. He knew what Gabriel was after, now. He was trying to trap Aziraphale, trying to force him to punish Crowley - certain that he wouldn't.

And Aziraphale - sweet, devoted, loyal Aziraphale - was already _defending_ Crowley, arguing his innocence.

Walking right into Gabriel's trap.

Crowley couldn't let that happen. He had to make sure that Aziraphale had _no choice_ but to follow through.

"I did it," Crowley said quietly, and the room fell silent. He took a deep breath, then raised his voice a little, forcing a little defiance into his words, making his tone careless and vaguely challenging. "Got a bit stir crazy, cooped up in this musty old shop all the time. Waited 'til you were busy. Wasn't hard to slip away, way your nose is always buried in a book." He let out a dismissive little huff of breath, rolling his eyes before leaving them downcast. "'S not like I did anything," he added defensively. "Just wanted to get out for a bit."

He could feel Aziraphale's shocked gaze on him, though he kept his face turned away from him. He risked an instantaneous glance up at Gabriel, his stomach dropping when the archangel met his eyes, an expression of amused surprise on his face. His eyes narrowed, calculating, as if trying to decide how to proceed. He almost certainly had not expected Crowley to back up his false accusations.

Finally, Gabriel broke the tense silence.

"Well, there you have it," he said quietly, waving a hand toward Crowley and fixing Aziraphale with an expectant look. "Your prisoner needs discipline. What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, I - I'm quite sorry, I - I assure you I had no idea whatsoever..." Aziraphale began, his words an anxious rush, and Crowley felt guilty for putting him on the spot in such a way.

It was the only way to protect him.

"I suppose I'll - I'll have a firm discussion with him about why such behavior is not allowed, and then I'll... administer… discipline…" Aziraphale rose to his feet, taking a step toward the door. "So, if you'll excuse me, Gabriel, I quite clearly have important matters to attend to…"

"Not later, Aziraphale." Gabriel's voice was quiet but hard. "No. This needs to happen _now_."

_Please, angel… please just do it, just do what you have to so he'll go… and leave you alone. Please..._

Crowley didn't dare actually share the words with Aziraphale across their connection. It was all too likely that Gabriel would be able to hear them as well.

"Yes, well… yes, I suppose you're right," Aziraphale agreed at last, and Crowley felt a rush of relief. "All right, then."

Crowley glanced up at him, watching as he took the remote control for the collar from his pocket. His movements were slow, overly precise - as if by moving more slowly he could somehow prevent what had to happen. Crowley could feel how much he hated this, everything about this - but he _had _to do it, there was no choice. And the collar was likely the least terrible option, even if he set it to one of the higher settings.

Crowley doubted Aziraphale could bring himself to go any higher than 07.

"No, not that way." Gabriel stopped him, and Crowley's heart leapt up into his throat. "Not this time." Aziraphale gave him a frown of alarm and confusion, and he continued with a smile, "You said yourself you didn't have much experience in this area, right? And that's obvious by the demon's bad behavior. Time to _get_ some experience, Aziraphale."

So _that_ was the archangel's game, then. He was going to force Aziraphale to hurt Crowley with his own hands. Diabolically brilliant, really, Crowley had to admit. The collar was at least… _distant_. Hands off. It would be far more difficult for Aziraphale to inflict pain on Crowley in some other, more personal way.

Crowley glanced up at him, trying to gauge from his expression what he was thinking, if he was going to be able to bring himself to do what had to be done. As he watched, Aziraphale's jaw set, and his eyes went cold. A chill went down Crowley's spine at the carefully bridled anger he could feel coming off his angel. He knew that Aziraphale loved him. Aziraphale knew he was actually innocent of Gabriel's accusations. Still, the very thought of that cold anger being aimed at _him_ was a little terrifying.

Aziraphale nodded once, curtly, and put the remote control away, crossing the room with purposeful steps and then turning to face Crowley once he'd reached an empty space.

A space with room to work.

His tone was stern, controlled. "Come here, Crowley."

Crowley shivered, his heart racing. He nodded, biting his lip as he rose and crossed the room, swiftly going back to his knees facing Aziraphale, head bowed in deference, eyes closed.

Warring fears filled Crowley's thoughts, as he knelt there, waiting - the irrational fear of his angel hurting him... far outweighed by the greater fear that he _wouldn't hurt him enough_. He wasn't sure Aziraphale had it in him - and if Gabriel wasn't convinced, he could take Crowley away to Heaven again. He could have Aziraphale punished. He couldn't imagine anything his angel could do or say that would be enough.

Until Aziraphale spoke, his voice composed and quietly commanding - and Crowley's stomach plummeted through the floor.

"Present your wings."


	21. Chapter 21

"_It's better if it's you…"_

Crowley's words echoed in Aziraphale's head, like a mantra he had to keep repeating to remind himself:

He _had_ to do this.

It was better if he did it, than if Gabriel punished Crowley - for something that all three knew full well Crowley _hadn't done_, but the seething, righteous fury that rose up in Aziraphale when he thought about that was not a helpful emotion at the moment. He needed to fight it down - needed to remain calm and composed and get through this, with as minimal pain for his dear demon as possible.

If he was in control of the punishment, not Gabriel - then he could make sure it wasn't too bad.

That was why he'd decided on Crowley's wings. They'd been hidden away for weeks now, healing faster than the rest of his body on the earthly plane. By this point, they had to be nearly, if not completely, healed. And by the same token, once Gabriel left, whatever damage Aziraphale was forced to inflict would heal faster if it was on Crowley's wings, which would be safely on the spiritual plane, and further from the influence of the collar that inhibited his healing abilities.

If he had to hurt Crowley _anywhere_… his wings were the best place for it.

Aziraphale had wanted to avoid hurting Crowley _at all_ \- but Crowley had forced his hand. And when he truly thought about it, he had to admit that he understood why Crowley had done it. They both knew he was far too soft to go through with this unless there'd been no other choice - and that was what Gabriel was counting on.

Aziraphale's failure to punish his "prisoner" would only have resulted in worse punishment, for both of them.

Crowley had known this, and wisely saved Aziraphale from his own reticence.

But now, Crowley was trembling violently, staring up at Aziraphale with wide, panicked eyes - and all at once, Aziraphale's heart sank as he realized - he'd made a _very_ bad call. A memory came back to him of the first night he'd brought Crowley home... Crowley's hoarse, haunted whisper as he'd told Aziraphale that there weren't many injuries on his human form that needed tending, because _Gabriel had always focused on his wings_.

_Oh, Aziraphale, you _supreme idiot, _what have you done?_

"Please," Crowley whispered, shaking his head, his eyes welling with tears. "Not that…"

Gabriel smirked for a moment before barely concealing his malicious amusement, glancing down at the floor for a moment before looking back at Crowley with a little grimace of false regret. Aziraphale wasn't sure which of them he was speaking to when he said quietly, "You realize, of course, that now it _has_ to be... _that_." He gave an insincerely apologetic little shrug as he looked at Aziraphale. "Can't let him think he's calling the shots."

Dismayed, Aziraphale turned back toward Crowley, taking a couple of careful steps forward and crouching down in front of him to meet his eyes. Crowley's expression was pure panic, and Aziraphale's heart broke to see it. He couldn't risk reassuring him via their spiritual connection; Gabriel could easily overhear. He touched a gentle hand to Crowley's chin, tilting his head up a little and desperately willing Crowley to understand what he couldn't say.

_It's just for show, darling, I won't hurt you, no more than I can help it, I promise I won't…_

"I can't," Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale could feel him trembling under his hand. "You don't understand, I _can't_…"

Aziraphale steeled himself. He could not yield to his own compassion here, any more than he could have in the halls of Heaven that day when he'd convinced Gabriel to let him take his demon home. Now as then, he had to get through this in order to keep Crowley safe.

"What you mean is that you _won't_," Aziraphale corrected him, soft but stern. "But you will. Right now, Crowley. Do as I've told you."

Crowley looked at him for another long moment, imploring, before his shoulders fell, and he closed his eyes, crestfallen. Aziraphale's heart ached as Crowley lowered his head, and tears spilled down onto his face.

Crowley obeyed Aziraphale's command, presenting his wings, and Aziraphale stood up straight, keeping his pace measured and even as he walked around behind him.

He froze. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried not to let his horrified disbelief show on his face.

Crowley's wings were _destroyed_.

Large areas of them were bare, feathers ripped out leaving bloody wounds in their place - wounds which had scabbed over, though dried blood still streaked the remaining black feathers, many of which were broken and barely attached. Bare skin where feathers had once been was now covered in layers of bruises.

Aziraphale was at a total loss, unable to comprehend how this could have happened. His first furious thought was of course, Gabriel - but how was that possible? Aziraphale had been with Crowley _constantly_, aware of his location at all times.

_Perhaps they were worse off than I realized to begin with?_ He desperately searched for an explanation. _Perhaps something's preventing the original injuries from healing? _

"_Damn_, Aziraphale." Gabriel let out a slow whistle, giving Aziraphale an impressed grin. "I thought I was gonna have to teach you how to do this. But you don't play around, do you? What'd he do to deserve _this_?" The very clear amusement in his gaze aroused a fierce rage in Aziraphale - but Gabriel was watching him very closely with pointed interest in his answer, so he wrestled it into submission, and tried to think of one.

Crowley turned his head slightly, sharply, toward Aziraphale, drawing his attention. He was shaking so violently that his wings rustled with it, visibly overwhelmed with panic. He shook his head just a little, almost imperceptibly, but Aziraphale couldn't see his face, had no idea what message he was trying to get across. Helplessly, he tried to come up with an explanation to give Gabriel.

Crowley spoke up before he could.

"I ran into some demons while I was out," he blurted out in a breathless rush. "Got in a fight."

"No…" Gabriel shook his head, moving slowly closer to where Crowley knelt, and Aziraphale couldn't miss the way Crowley shrank away from him, bracing himself. "No, that's not what happened. I can tell by the bruises. This wasn't just one incident. Besides," he scoffed, derisive. "You _can't_ fight." He smirked. "Sorry, Crowley, but you're fresh out of 'street cred'."

The last phrase was marked with mocking finger quotes, before he reached out a hand to run along the length of Crowley's battered left wing. Aziraphale's hands curled into fists behind Crowley's back, out of Gabriel's line of vision, and he fought the urge to knock the archangel back, out of reach of his demon.

"I guess you don't want me to know how badly you've been behaving for Aziraphale, huh?" Gabriel mused. "Guess you're scared I might just take you back to Heaven."

Aziraphale's stomach clenched painfully, and he willed himself to maintain control. A choked little whimper escaped Crowley's lips, and he shook his head, silently pleading. Gabriel visibly savored his terror for a moment, before relenting, letting go of Crowley's wing and stepping back again.

"Nah. Looks to me like he's got everything well in hand." He nodded toward Aziraphale with grudging appreciation. "Can't say you're not trying, anyway."

Aziraphale knew there was something here he was missing - something vitally important. Whatever had happened to Crowley's wings - he'd deliberately _hidden it _from Aziraphale. Aziraphale knew, now - his terror at exposing his wings had not been fear that Aziraphale would hurt them, but fear that Aziraphale would _see _them. Gabriel's sheer pleasure in Crowley's suffering lent weight to Aziraphale's feeling that the archangel had to somehow be responsible - but Gabriel was behaving as if he thought _Aziraphale_ had done it.

And how could Gabriel have gotten to Crowley, anyway? Aziraphale was always with him.

Aziraphale just couldn't figure it out.

He needed to get Gabriel out of there, as quickly as possible, so that he could.

"I'm sorry," Crowley whispered into the tense silence, his voice thin and brittle with panic. "I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry, too, Crowley," he sighed, reaching out to touch Crowley's shoulder, hoping to be reassuring - but Crowley's flinch away from him was all too convincing. There was nothing for it at the moment, nothing Aziraphale could do but to play along with Gabriel's assumptions, and claim credit for the horrifying state of Crowley's wings. "I'm sorry it has to keep coming to this. And I'm hopeful that you'll learn to behave yourself properly, and we can avoid this in the future."

He ran a hand down Crowley's wing, careful to avoid his injuries, until he found a place that seemed relatively untouched. Shorter feathers, their roots not as deep, without much bruising around the area. It would sting, he knew, but it wouldn't do as much damage as if he pulled out larger feathers, with deeper roots. A temporary pain, relatively minor in comparison to what Crowley had already been through - to get rid of Gabriel and protect him from anything worse.

Aziraphale clenched his hand in the soft, downy feathers - and all his rationalizations did _nothing_ to ease the utter disgust he felt toward himself at the sweeping wave of overwhelming _panic_ he felt from Crowley, the full-body tremors that overtook him at the threatening touch. Lost in his terror, Crowley buried his face in his hands, openly weeping.

"Please, don't," he sobbed, plaintive, imploring. "Please, master, don't…"

And Aziraphale _froze_ \- all of his careful control shattering in an instant, swallowed up in rage, at the implications of the word that he couldn't quite believe he had _actually_ just heard.

Crowley froze, too, the moment the word slipped from his lips.

He hadn't meant to say it.

He was just so confused, so overwhelmed, so _scared, _and before he'd realized what he'd said, it was out there, the sound of it sucking all the air from the room and leaving all three of its occupants in shock.

Crowley hadn't worried about Aziraphale punishing him, except to worry that he might not punish him _enough_. After everything he'd experienced at Gabriel's hands, Crowley wasn't afraid of whatever temporary pain Aziraphale might be able to force himself to inflict, in order to be convincing.

No, that wasn't why he was _terrified_.

Gabriel knew Aziraphale hadn't hurt his wings, he knew because he'd done it himself - and Aziraphale was _pretending he had_ \- incriminating himself further with every word. Crowley had tried to speak up and offer an explanation, to give Aziraphale an out, but Gabriel had easily shot that down. He'd tried to warn Aziraphale, but couldn't with Gabriel so close, watching every move either of them made. And Aziraphale didn't even know it yet, but he was _caught_, caught in his lies, and Gabriel _knew_.

Of course Gabriel knew; he'd known about them for a very long time. While he still, always, guarded his words against anything the archangel could actually _use_ against Aziraphale, Crowley hardly bothered to pretend that he didn't care about his angel anymore.

Gabriel _knew_.

But there was a vast difference between Gabriel _knowing_, for himself - and Aziraphale's own words condemning him.

He was scared _for_ Aziraphale; he wasn't scared _of_ Aziraphale, he wasn't, he _wasn't _\- but Aziraphale was _so angry_, he could feel it pouring over him the moment he exposed his wings - pure blind rage, overpowering, overwhelming, making everything inside him freeze up in terror… because he _deserved_ that anger.

_Because you're a liar,_ that dark, familiar voice hissed in his mind, viciously accusing. _Because you've been keeping secrets and lying to him and now he knows it and now he's _done _with you, stupid, worthless little serpent. You _never _deserved him and he knows it now. He's going to throw you out, he's going to give you back, but he's going to make it _hurt _first, because you have this coming. Your own fault. You brought this on yourself…_

And before he knew it, he was pleading, with words that just fell off his tongue with such easy familiarity, words that usually served to placate Gabriel, at least a little.

But he hadn't spoken _that word_ to _Gabriel_… not this time.

Aziraphale stood very still behind him, his hand still clutching Crowley's wing - tight, but not tight enough to hurt. Gabriel stood in front of him, silent, and Crowley glanced up… and instantly regretted it, dread clenching around his heart in an icy fist. He swiftly looked away from the dark, murderous rage in the archangel's eyes, but even in an instant, his expression was easy to read.

He was purely furious that Crowley had _dared_ to speak that word - to _Aziraphale._

Crowley's heart raced as Gabriel slowly advanced on him, crouching down in front of him. He forced himself to keep still as Gabriel tilted his head up, his eyes darting anxiously up to meet Gabriel's gaze for just an instant - and _oh_, that was a _mistake_, because once captured by the archangel's cold, arresting gaze, Crowley found that he _couldn't_ look away.

"You know what, Aziraphale?" Gabriel said softly, a cool smile on his lips, never breaking eye contact with Crowley. "I think I've seen enough."

Crowley's heart sank.

_He's seen enough. He has enough. He's _got _Aziraphale, now, trapped in his own words, and he's going to make him pay for your little slip-up, stupid whore, your angel's going to suffer because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut… _

He shook his head a little, barely breathing out a desperate plea. "No, no, don't… _please_…"

Gabriel let go of him and rose slowly to his feet, glaring down at him for a moment in disgust… before abruptly turning toward the door. "Keep a better eye on him from now on," he ordered Aziraphale in a forcedly careless tone that did not conceal his anger… not from Crowley, anyway.

This was it, Crowley knew. One tiny, fatal mistake, and Gabriel was _done_ playing his game. He was certainly going away right now to make his preparations to come back and arrest Aziraphale, and take them both away. His angel was trapped, doomed to death and perhaps even damnation - and it was all Crowley's fault.

Crowley shivered a little when Aziraphale finally seemed to come out of his shock, his hand still clenched in Crowley's wing finally easing off and letting go. Slowly, Aziraphale moved around in front of him, kneeling down on the floor to face him. His voice was too calm, his composure barely skating over the surface of a boiling rage that Crowley could feel, rolling off of him in stifling waves.

"Will you look at me, Crowley?"

It wasn't a command, Crowley knew his angel well enough to know that no punishment would follow if he refused - but he _couldn't_ refuse, forcing his gaze up to meet Aziraphale's eyes - and then immediately looking away from the fury he saw there.

"I'm s-s-sorry," he hissed out, desperate, broken words spilling from his lips. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, angel, please, I'm sorry…"

"What are you sorry for?" Aziraphale's words were quiet and even. "Unless _you_ did this to your wings, I don't see what you'd have to…"

"_Lying_," Crowley blurted out, his shame choking him as he hid his face in his hands.

Aziraphale's hands were as gentle as ever as he took Crowley's hands and pulled them down, holding them in one of his own as he raised the other to touch Crowley's face, brushing his tears away. Crowley shivered, unsettled by the contrast between the soft warm tenderness of Aziraphale's touch - and the icy fury he could _feel_, thrumming just under the surface of his angel's skin.

"What have you lied about?" Aziraphale persisted softly. When Crowley couldn't bring himself to answer, he concluded, his voice low and faintly trembling, "He did this to you. Didn't he?" After a moment, Aziraphale amended, "_How_ did he do this to you?"

He couldn't keep it back anymore, everything was coming to light whether he wanted it to or not, and the secret was _crushing_ him, had been for as long as he'd held it. Crowley's words poured out in a desperate rush.

"He stops time, he said he learned it from me, I d-don't know how. He did it in Heaven, it's why the time was off, why I was there for so long, he did it so he could... " He gestured vaguely, helplessly, toward his ruined wings.

Aziraphale blinked, momentarily caught off guard, processing - and then his anger flared hot again, suffocating, overpowering. He rose to his feet, and Crowley instinctively shied away from him, heart lurching. But Aziraphale just reached down and took his arms, steadying him as he helped him to get to his feet as well. Crowley stood there, helplessly guilty and ashamed as Aziraphale's agitation overpowered him, and he began pacing the floor as he tried to work it out.

"He _stops time_," he echoed, glancing at Crowley, who nodded once in miserable confirmation. "So, he's been… when did he… but no, I suppose that's the wrong question isn't it? It would have been _between_ the 'when', of course. He's been doing this for… for _how long_, Crowley?"

"Since… that first time he came. To the shop," Crowley admitted, cringing when Aziraphale froze in disbelief.

For how long he'd been lying to his angel, how could Aziraphale _possibly_ forgive him?

"How many times?" Aziraphale asked.

"F-four now," Crowley confessed, his words hushed by his shame. "No… no, five."

"And you didn't tell me…" Aziraphale resumed his pacing, his tone not angry, exactly. More thoughtful, contemplative.

Crowley flinched. The words didn't _sound_ like an accusation - but they certainly felt like one.

_Didn't tell him, kept it secret, kept him in danger, worthless, stupid, useless..._

"No, I suppose he told you not to, didn't he?" Aziraphale continued, so lost in his own thought process that he didn't seem to notice Crowley's reaction, or lack of a response. "So of course you kept your silence… you couldn't have gone against him, not after everything…" He sat down on the edge of the sofa, drawing in a deep shaky breath and letting it out slowly, raking both hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry," Crowley cried softly, overwhelmed by his own guilt and shame, and the confusing, cacophonic tumult of fearsome emotions he felt coming off Aziraphale. "I sh-should have, I'm s-so sorry, mas-" He choked off the word in horror before he could finish it, gasping out, "-_angel_, sorry… sorry…"

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley sharply, dismayed and disbelieving.

Crowley wanted to sink to his knees again, to sink through the floor. Instead he just wrapped his arms around himself, his shoulders shaking as he cried, anxious eyes locked onto Aziraphale, watching with dread for his reaction.

"Master," Aziraphale whispered under his breath, staring at Crowley, aghast. He looked away again, shaking his head slowly as he repeated it with disgust and disbelief. "_Master_..."

His eyes were wide, distant, staring but not seeing the items on the coffee table in front of him - a couple of random, unsuspicious books, an unlit cinnamon-scented candle, Crowley's sunglasses. In a sudden fury that overwhelmed him and Crowley at the exact same moment, Aziraphale let out a frustrated, furious roar, sweeping his arm out and knocking it all off onto the floor as he rose to his feet.

Crowley stumbled back away from him, until his back hit the wall near the bedroom door.

Aziraphale was pacing again, his steps carrying him away from Crowley as he wrestled with his reaction to emotions that Crowley knew on some level, his angel had never experienced before. Aziraphale was above all a being of love and light and warmth… and quite unfamiliar with the depths of furious rage he was feeling right now. On some level, Crowley could understand why Aziraphale was having a very difficult time controlling himself.

That didn't stop his panic when Aziraphale's pacing steps turned him around and brought him back toward Crowley.

At the exact same moment, several things happened. Aziraphale's eyes lit on his demon's pale, terrified face, and he froze, instant regret shining from his eyes.

"Crowley," he began, soft, sorrowful, and moved toward him.

And Crowley bolted for the bedroom door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him.


	22. Chapter 22

Aziraphale had just enough time to realize his mistake, before the bedroom door slammed in his face.

Everything he was feeling - the confusion, the shock, the overwhelming _rage_ \- it was all about Crowley… _his dear Crowley_, who had been abused and manipulated and terrorized _right here in his own home_… and rather than care for him as he needed, rather than reassure and comfort him - Aziraphale had allowed his blind fury to frighten him away.

He felt completely out of control, drowning in a wave of emotions he'd never in all his existence experienced. He'd felt righteous anger before, and the desire to avenge those who'd been unfairly hurt, but… this was different. This was _Crowley_. The tumult of emotions Aziraphale was feeling had become a powerfully swirling vortex sucking him in, consuming him. His thoughts were still spinning out of control, racing and tumbling over each other as he tried to make sense of it all.

Gabriel could _stop time_.

He'd apparently, somehow, _learned it from Crowley_ \- and then taken it and used it to extend his captivity in Heaven, to give himself enough time to torture him and terrorize him and _break_ him, to the point where his brave, defiant, sharp-tongued demon would cower on his knees before him and call him _fucking master_.

And, there was the _consuming rage_ again.

From the other side of the bedroom door, Aziraphale heard a heartrendingly soft, broken little sound - and he closed his eyes, resting his head against the door, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He had to get it together, _at once_, because he was _still_ frightening Crowley, from the other side of the door - and his broken demon needed him to keep control right now.

"Crowley?" he called softly, trying the handle. He winced when he found it locked.

_How much damage has your thoughtless rage already done?_

"May I please come in, love?"

After a long, heavy silence, Aziraphale heard the soft click of the lock turning. He opened the door, slowly and carefully. He immediately knew that Crowley must have used a minor miracle to unlock the door, because there was no way he could have gotten to the door and back into his current position so quickly.

Crowley was huddled in the bed, his knees pulled up in front of him, his angelic night-light cradled in his arms, folded against his chest. His damaged wings were wrapped around in front of him, shielding most of him from view. His golden eyes were wide and wary as he looked up at Aziraphale, watching him closely as he softly closed the door and cautiously approached the bed.

"I'm not angry," he said quietly, as he sat down on the edge, leaving a couple of feet between himself and Crowley.

Crowley lowered his face toward the night-light, its soft glow shining in his tear-filled eyes. "You're lying."

"I'm not angry _with you_," Aziraphale amended, truthfully.

Crowley closed his eyes with a shaky, weary sigh. Aziraphale frowned, noting the fine tremor in his limbs, his state of utter exhaustion. His eyes fell on the tiny screen along the edge of the collar, which still read 04.

Well_, that _certainly wasn't helping anything.

"May I?" he asked, reaching a cautious hand toward it, but not venturing any nearer than the protective shield of Crowley's wings.

Crowley's eyes darted nervously toward the angel's fingers, and he swallowed slowly, but then nodded, granting access. He tensed when Aziraphale touched the collar, his jaw taut, eyes closed - but then visibly relaxed a bit as the pain receded. Aziraphale allowed his gaze to drift over Crowley's ravaged wings as they shifted, and a sense of sorrow fell over him. His voice was hushed and heavy.

"Your poor wings, my darling."

Crowley's voice was low and small, and shook a little. "C-can I put them away?"

The question broke Aziraphale's heart. Had Crowley truly been sitting here, waiting for someone to give him _permission_? He reached out a careful hand to take one of Crowley's, pulling it down a little so that both their hands rested against Crowley's knees.

"They're yours, my love," he reminded him gently. "You never need ask my permission. Although…" He gently squeezed Crowley's hand, his words very cautious. "I do wish that you would wait just a bit… and let me see? Perhaps I can help…"

"You can't heal them," Crowley cut him off, looking away. "He'll be coming back, angel, he will, sooner rather than later, and it's just more evidence, just more proof for him to use against you."

"Not that he needs any more at this point, I've made certain of that," Aziraphale pointed out, frowning, puzzled. "What do you suppose he's waiting for?"

"He's known for a long time." Crowley's tone was grim, troubled. "Just couldn't prove it. But… now…"

"Now that I've openly claimed responsibility for something he knows _he's_ done?" Aziraphale grimaced, a sick feeling building in the pit of his stomach. "Now that he's caught me in at least one significant lie?" He considered for a moment. "Of course, he may not be able to _admit _to having done this," he amended, the realization taking shape in his mind as he spoke. "Stopping time - that's a rather extravagant miracle. A bold misuse of power, most would say, no matter for _what _purpose, and when he's using it for such… brutality…"

Crowley flinched a little, his hand tightening around Aziraphale's, and Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, pushing down on his anger.

It could wait. Crowley couldn't.

"Perhaps he does not wish his superiors to know he's done it," he concluded, hoping his words would offer Crowley some reassurance. "Perhaps that's why we're both still sitting here. I believe the term is 'mutually assured destruction'?"

"I don't know." Crowley's voice was low and hoarse, wobbly with exhaustion, and he buried his face in his arms, without letting go of Aziraphale's hand. "I just don't know." He pulled his wings in a little tighter around himself, and as he did, let out an unhappy little groan of pain.

"May I see?" Aziraphale asked again, softly. Crowley lifted his head just enough to give him a dubious, suspicious look, and he sighed, adding reluctantly, "I won't do any miracles. I promise. Just - human remedies, perhaps, to ease the pain before you put them away and let them heal?" He reached out his free hand to cautiously touch the edge of Crowley's wing.

Crowley jerked the wing away with a frightened little gasp, and Aziraphale felt a fresh wave of overwhelmed emotion from him - suffocating terror and confusion.

Aziraphale hesitated a moment... then _decided_.

He moved in closer to Crowley, freeing his hand from Crowley's grasp and reaching out to place both hands on either side of Crowley's face. Crowley jerked in his grasp, and Aziraphale felt a fresh jolt of alarm from him, but he held on. What Crowley needed right now was to know for himself what Aziraphale was thinking, what he was feeling - to be reassured that the fury Aziraphale was incapable of stifling was not _at_ him, but _for_ him. In the wake of all that had just come to light, it was impossible for Crowley not to feel the angel's wrath.

Aziraphale just needed to make sure he could feel his _love_, as well.

He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to Crowley's, and closed his eyes, focusing on sending out a powerful pulse of energy over his love, surrounding him, covering him. He felt the raw agony, the terror emanating from Crowley, felt his panic… and allowed the fierce, consuming love he felt for him to go to war with it.

Crowley shook in his grasp, but no longer tried to escape it. His hands rose to cover the angel's, pressing his head against Aziraphale's as if trying to bury himself in his angel's warmth and love, and Aziraphale _felt_ it - the moment when the tension, the resistance, just snapped like a rubber band… and all he felt from Crowley was sheer, utter _relief_.

Crowley let go of Aziraphale's hands and reached down to toss his little Aziraphale-substitute night light to the side, in favor of embracing the real thing. He wrapped his arms around his angel and clung to him, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, gasping. "I'm sorry, angel, I should have told you… shouldn't have lied to you…"

"You didn't lie," Aziraphale reassured him, kissing his hair, cupping the back of his head, warm and steadying. "You simply chose not to tell me. And how could you possibly have?" The angel shook his head a little, closing his eyes against the hot tears threatening to spill over. "My darling, you must have been so very frightened… I missed the signs, I've been so busy…"

"Helping _me_," Crowley reminded him, his voice muffled and tearful. "You've been busy _helping me_."

"I've been _unavailable_." Aziraphale's voice was firm. He was not about to let himself off the hook for this one. "I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so sorry."

He held Crowley for a few moments, gently stroking his back, laying soft kisses along his brow, running his fingers through his hair, until he felt Crowley grow calmer. At last he drew back a little, meeting Crowley's eyes and gently touching the edge of his wing, his words soft and coaxing.

"Let me see, darling."

Crowley's wings were almost entirely in front of him, which Aziraphale thought was probably quite fortunate. Crowley would be less frightened if he could see what Aziraphale was doing. He carefully examined the damaged wings, smoothing through the feathers and carefully removing ones that were broken or falling out, soothing the sting out with gentle caresses after. As he worked, however, Aziraphale realized that there really wasn't a lot he could do to help, short of a miracle.

There were many bruises and places that had once been bleeding, but were now scabbed over, already in the process of healing. On their own, they would continue to ache, continue to _hurt_, until they slowly healed through the natural process. And once Crowley hid them away again, they would heal more quickly, certainly, but…

Aziraphale wanted _so badly _to just heal them.

"You can't," Crowley whispered, as if reading his mind, and Aziraphale realized a little guiltily that he'd been just sitting there, holding Crowley's wing and staring at it for a minute or so. "Gabriel…"

"I won't." Aziraphale sighed, resigned if not accepting. He resumed gently stroking through the feathers, smoothing them, as he reminded Crowley softly, "They're yours, love. I'll only do as you wish."

Crowley's eyes drifted shut as he let out a soft little hum of pleasure. "You can keep doing _that_," he offered with a sleepy little smile.

Aziraphale smiled, and continued, careful to avoid Crowley's injuries. His smile faded a little as he looked more closely. In the places where feathers had been yanked out and now there was only bare skin, he could clearly see the layers of bruises - from multiple attacks, as Gabriel had so helpfully pointed out.

And he could see scars - countless scars, all over Crowley's wings.

His heart ached, and yet was so full, with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude, as he took in the weight of what Crowley had endured.

Crowley had received these scars… for protecting _him_.

Impulsively, Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed a light kiss against one of the scars nearest to him. Crowley shivered a little, his breath catching in his throat, but his eyes stayed closed and he stayed still. Aziraphale hesitated, watching his face closely as his fingertips carefully traced the line he'd just kissed.

"Y-you don't have to," Crowley whispered, turning his face away a little, and Aziraphale ached to see the shame, the pain in the taut lines of his mouth. "I - I know they're…"

"_Breathtaking_."

Crowley opened his eyes then, looking up at Aziraphale in disbelief. Aziraphale gave him a warm smile, hoping the awe he felt showed through in his eyes.

"Literally, darling," he insisted against the doubt in Crowley's eyes. "I think of what you suffered for me… the sacrifices you've made to protect me, and… and I can scarcely breathe. It's… deeply humbling. And - and it's my great honor that you allow me to touch you."

Completely caught off guard, Crowley blinked his wide eyes rapidly, lowering his face before fresh tears could fall. Aziraphale gently cradled his face in one hand, _aching_ for him when Crowley closed his eyes again and leaned into the touch, a slow swallow visible in his throat.

Aziraphale shifted in closer, gently, cautiously running his hand along Crowley's wing, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to another scar, earning another little shiver from his demon - so he continued, gentle lips following careful fingers as he discovered the history detailed in Crowley's scars - the record of the demon's love for him, etched into his skin.

It felt like an offering - felt like _worship_ \- and Aziraphale supposed he should have felt guilty for that. But he didn't. And perhaps that was a little something like rebellion, and perhaps that should have scared him - but he wasn't feeling a lot of loyalty to Heaven right at the moment, or to any Being who might have had the power to prevent these scars, and hadn't.

_Crowley_ had his complete devotion.

Crowley had earned it - _bled and burned_ for it.

Aziraphale moved from Crowley's wings back to his face, gentle fingers brushing beneath his lashes, brushing away tears… his mouth kissing the soft, stuttering breath from Crowley's lips, as he willed Crowley to _feel it_, to _feel_ his offering, in every touch, if not in the woefully inadequate words that sang through their connection with the soaring tones of a hymn.

_I love you, I love you, I love you… more than my own life, I love you..._

Crowley kissed Aziraphale back, with yearning, with quiet desperation - and then abruptly pulled away, breathless, hesitant. Aziraphale frowned, ducking his head to study his face. Catching his breath, Crowley closed his eyes and put his wings away. Aziraphale worried that he might have crossed a line, might have done something wrong, but before he could voice it, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes going wide - as Crowley's steady, purposeful hands began to unbutton his shirt.

Aziraphale reached out to stay his hands, covering them with his own and waiting until Crowley looked up at him.

"You don't have to," he stated firmly.

"I know." Crowley's voice was soft but certain, and he held Aziraphale's gaze, unflinching. "I want to. I'm ready."

Aziraphale studied him, concerned. He knew Crowley was in a very vulnerable place at the moment. "I don't wish you to feel… _pressure_, to do anything," he persisted. "If you're not sure it's… the right time…"

"Could be the only time." Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but held his tongue when he realized that Crowley wasn't panicking, wasn't frantic - just quiet and solemn. Just _honest_. "He'll be back. Don't know when, but he will be. And - if all I've got with you is tonight… if it's just… the next few moments…"

Dismayed, Aziraphale found the words to protest.

Crowley kissed them from his mouth.

And Aziraphale could feel it, the message Crowley was sending across their connection - the intensity of his need, because he _did_, he _needed_ this - needed to just lose himself in Aziraphale for a little while, and forget all of the fear and the pain and the trauma of his memories that Gabriel kept dragging back to the surface. If it was all going to fall apart, in a few minutes, a few hours, before morning - he needed to feel Aziraphale _loving him, now_ \- and have it to carry with him into whatever came after.

Aziraphale couldn't possibly have denied him.

They took their time - tender and slow, Aziraphale's hands reverently re-learning Crowley's body, tracing every evidence of his devotion with first his fingers, and then his mouth. He kissed his throat, kissed down the line of his neck to his shoulder, mouth trailing around to his back - and Crowley stopped him, pulling him back around to face him.

He didn't have to voice his need - Aziraphale remembered, and he would give Crowley what he needed.

Every last moment of this would be face to face.

The last time - their first time since their reunion - had been desperate and urgent. Now, Aziraphale took his time. He kissed and caressed Crowley until he was relaxed and pliant in his arms. Only then did he reach down beneath the blankets, careful fingers pressing inside, one at a time, relishing every gasp, every little sound of pleasure and need, until Crowley was ready for him.

Crowley's hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, deeper, as Aziraphale moved slowly inside him. The demon's mouth kissed his angel's throat, his lips, breaking away with a gasp when Aziraphale's hand dropped between them to grip his cock and slowly work it in time with the rhythm he'd already set. No miracle was required this time, for them to reach their climax at the same time, Crowley gasping for breath in Aziraphale's arms.

He was asleep within minutes - a blessed mercy, Aziraphale thought, given the dark direction in which his thoughts could have gone, stealing sleep from him. He smiled affectionately as he kissed his sleeping love's damp hair, and held him closer. If the best gift he could offer him was blissful exhaustion in place of dread, he was happy to give it.

Aziraphale rarely slept, and he didn't feel that he should, now. He should be working. Getting ready. _Doing something_.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave Crowley, to give up the comfort of simply feeling him in his arms. He settled in close, willing his body to relax - because _this_ was what he needed to be doing right now, he realized. Just being here for Crowley, holding him and cherishing every moment he had with him, because as much as he hated to admit it, Crowley was right.

It was a distinct possibility that they might not have many more left.

Wakefulness came slowly to Crowley, with the warmth of morning sunlight on his face, and the press of soft, sleepy kisses against his throat. He smiled, humming happily at the sensation, and tilting his head, allowing his angel better access.

"Morning, love," Aziraphale whispered from over his shoulder, and Crowley nestled back against him a little, as Aziraphale's mouth drifted down from his throat to his shoulder. "Morning has indeed arrived," Aziraphale informed him, warm and light. "And we're still here…"

Something about those reassuring words sparked something in Crowley - a deep, unnamed stirring of unease - but he was still too sleepy to process it, too lost in the soft pleasure of sensation - Aziraphale's hand smoothing down the bare skin of his arm, pressing another kiss to his shoulder… then just below his shoulder, a little lower down his back. He frowned, more unsettled now.

_Something wrong, something wrong about this… oh, angel, feels so nice, but shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn't be... allowing…_

He felt the brush of cool air against his skin, as Aziraphale drew back the blankets a little, his warm hands a sharp, pleasurable contrast as they rested against Crowley's side, his mouth drifting lower down Crowley's spine, down to the middle of his back now - and all at once, Crowley's eyes opened wide, with the shock of horrified remembrance.

They'd fallen asleep, and somewhere during the night, he must have turned in his sleep, and Aziraphale - innocent, well-meaning Aziraphale was simply kissing him awake as he'd done countless times over the past fourteen years, but Crowley had to stop him, had to _stop him now_, before he found…

He reacted, the instant that it was too late.

"Angel, wait, _no!_"

He felt Aziraphale go very still, felt the wave of _shock_ washing over him, just as he scrambled up and turned around, his back to the headboard, facing his angel, who was staring at him, aghast, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale's voice was hushed, horrified. "What is that?"

Crowley knew by Aziraphale's tone that he already had a very good idea of what it was. He'd tried so hard to hide it, but it was too late now. _Everything_ \- even the most damning of details, even the parts that would take his angel from him forever - was coming to light. Awash with shame, Crowley buried his face in his hands. With perhaps the most forceful touch he'd employed since he'd found him in Heaven, Aziraphale caught his wrists and pulled his hands down, moving closer to him.

Crowley could feel the angel's anger resurfacing, surges of it cresting over him in waves.

"_What is that_?"

It felt like an accusation. All of Crowley's shame, all of his guilt, everything he'd tried to hide came washing over him, crushing him. He was drowning in it.

_He's going to _know _now, know what you are, what you've done, and he'll never be able to see you the same way again. _

_Whether Gabriel comes for you, or whether he doesn't… last night _was _the last time, because he's going to know what an unfaithful, disgusting little slut you are, and he won't ever want to _touch _you again…_

"He did that to you?" Aziraphale's voice shook with incredulous fury. "Crowley, why - when did he - did he do that _here_?" There was a dangerous edge to his voice, a tone that was frighteningly, familiarly possessive - or perhaps protective. It was difficult for Crowley to tell the difference between the two these days.

He shivered regardless, a sick feeling washing over him at the sound of it. He didn't dare to pull his hands away, even as he pressed back against the headboard, trying to put a little distance between himself and the furious angel, panic sweeping over him as he rushed to explain.

"It wasn't here, no, it was in Heaven, I'm sorry…" he gasped out. "Please, angel, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, _please_…"

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath, visibly struggling to control his reaction, and Crowley felt his anger ease off a bit - at the very least, the intensity with which he was projecting it. It was still there, though, he could still feel it, pulsing under the surface, barely under control.

"Crowley, you needn't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong," Aziraphale assured him, releasing his grip on Crowley's hands and holding his own up between them in a very deliberately non-threatening gesture. But his voice was still trembling with fury, his eyes blazing with it. "This is _not your fault_, it's just… I had no idea he'd done such a thing to you, my love, what it _means_…"

_You're a slave… you belong to me… I _fucking own _you, you little whore…_

Crowley shuddered, wrapping his arms around his knees, hiding his face. He heard Aziraphale sigh, but this time he didn't try to make Crowley look at him. After a moment, Crowley felt his hand rest against his knees, his fingers trembling but gentle as they stroked slow, reassuring circles against his skin.

"I'm sorry, my darling, I don't mean to frighten you," Aziraphale said softly. "The last thing you need is…" His voice broke off, and Crowley heard a quiet, broken little intake of breath, before Aziraphale continued, tears in his voice. "I thought I knew… thought I understood, what happened… why they took you, but _this_…" Aziraphale was quiet for a moment before continuing, "Crowley, please, love… please _talk to me_…"

"I can't, I can't," Crowley whispered, raising his head just a little as despairing tears streaked his face. "I'm s-sorry, angel, I'm _so sorry_…"

He'd feared he'd lose Aziraphale to Gabriel - but he hadn't thought it would happen like _this._

_But it's better this way,_ the little voice in his head whispered. _All the other ways, Aziraphale gets hurt… but this way, he'll be safe. It's better for him to see you for what you are… to finally give up on you like he should have long ago. If he stops trying to protect you, trying to _love _you when you don't deserve it… he'll turn you back over to Heaven, to Gabriel… _

He shivered at the thought, icy fingers of dread creeping their way around his heart.

_It's better this way. Whether it's because he's sinning against Heaven by loving you, or whether it's because of Gabriel's jealousy - either way, _you're the reason he's a target_. _

_If he just leaves you behind - he'll be safe. _

"Please talk to me, love," Aziraphale repeated, a whisper filled with such tender concern, such devotion that it broke Crowley's heart. "Please look at me. I'm not angry with you, I couldn't be… I'm just trying to understand. Can you talk to me?"

Crowley shook his head, unable to speak past the swelling ache in his heart, the ache of all he knew he was about to lose. He couldn't tell Aziraphale what had happened - couldn't even begin to find the words. But he _could_ make him understand - how filthy and defiled and worthless he was… why he shouldn't even be wasting his time.

He closed his eyes, summoning every last shred of courage he had, struggling to find the will to go through with this - because once he did it, he knew his angel would be lost to him forever.

"I'll - I'll _show_ you," he choked out in a whisper, lifting his head to finally meet Aziraphale's worried, love-filled eyes. He reached out with trembling hands toward Aziraphale's head, hesitating, waiting for permission.

Aziraphale's eyes went wide as he understood what Crowley was offering - what he'd asked for weeks ago, and Crowley had refused. He bit his lip, uncertain, then nodded slowly, taking Crowley's hands gently in his and holding them for a moment, before pressing them to either side of his own head, covering them with his own. He leaned in close, closing his eyes - and Crowley had to force himself to close the rest of the distance, pressing his head to Aziraphale's and readying himself to share the worst of his memories.

Unexpectedly, Aziraphale's wings sprang forth, wrapping around them both, and Crowley's resolve nearly broke under the force of the love and reassurance he felt flowing out of his angel, surrounding him, overwhelming him.

_You're safe with me…_ Aziraphale whispered into his mind, into his broken spirit. _I love you, and this will be all right… I'm going to love you, no matter what..._

Crowley only allowed himself a moment to let his heart soak it in - only a moment, because he knew if he allowed himself a moment longer, he'd never be able to give it up.

Aziraphale only meant those sweet promises because he didn't know what Crowley had done.

His tears flowed freely as he closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and opened his mind and his memories up to his angel…

… _for the very last time..._


	23. Chapter 23

_The bed was Crowley's. _

_Gabriel had promised… and it was a promise he actually kept._

_Technically. _

_It was a safe space for Crowley - a place where he could rest and hide away during the hours when Gabriel was off doing his _actual job… _a place where he could close his eyes and dream of his angel, and pretend that he was here with him, holding him, comforting him… or better yet, pretend that he wasn't here at all, but home and safe with Aziraphale. The bed was Crowley's, and Gabriel didn't touch it. _

_But he clearly _wanted _to. _

_Every time he came to Crowley's room, Gabriel violated him. Once in a while, he was satisfied with just the demon's mouth. Most times, he fucked him - up against the wall or down on the floor. He especially liked to bend Crowley over the sink, so he could watch the expressions on his face in the mirror. _

_But he never took him in the bed. _

_He'd ask, though. Not command, not order - just ask, in a way that made it sound as if it was Crowley's comfort he was thinking about. As if it would just be _so much easier _for _Crowley _in the bed. _

_And when Crowley said no, each and every time, he'd become increasingly violent, leaving Crowley bleeding and bruised and in so much pain that it was difficult even to move once he'd left. Still, Crowley would clean himself up and crawl into the bed - _his _bed, an oasis in the midst of his suffering that he was unwilling to give up. _

"_You know, this is kind of ridiculous," Gabriel pointed out after weeks of this routine, sighing as if extremely put out. "Perfectly nice, comfortable bed right across the room… I don't think I want to fuck you at all, if it's not there." _

Perfect. Works for both of us, then. Be seeing you, _Crowley wanted to say._

_He also wanted to _not _be beaten unconscious, so instead he just shook his head, cautiously submissive, eyes downcast. "Not there. Please, you promised… not there…"_

"_I did, didn't I?" Gabriel's jaw tightened, his words clipped with barely restrained frustration. "Fine. I won't." His grip on Crowley's arms became bruising, as he visibly struggled to rein in his anger._

_He failed. _

_He didn't drag Crowley to the bed, didn't force him down and take what he wanted despite his promise. He just slammed him into the wall with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs… just beat him with his fists until he'd collapsed, bleeding into the soft carpet… just kicked his stomach, his ribs until Crowley felt something crack. _

_He left him there, only _nearly _unconscious, in breathtaking pain... and terrified. _

_Crowley somehow managed to get one of his clean towels under the tap and wet enough to wash the blood from his face, and then crawled to his bed. _

_Huddled under the warm blankets, his eyes closed, his bruised face pressed into the downy pillows, Crowley envisioned his angel, lying next to him… a gentle hand brushing his hair back from his face… soft lips kissing away the pain… warm words whispering that it was going to be all right, they were going to be together again soon, he was strong enough to somehow survive this…_

_When Gabriel returned to his room, Crowley thought he was braced for the worst. _

_He would not give Gabriel what he wanted. He needed it, needed to hold onto it, because he was _going _to be punished. If it wasn't for this, for refusing Gabriel… it would be for something else. And he _needed _this one little thing, this tiny corner that he could cling to, where he could indulge in his memories and cling to that last tiny shred of hope. _

_The one constant was this: Gabriel was going to hurt him. _

_Crowley needed a place that he could go, after. _

"_Come here," Gabriel ordered from just inside the door. _

_Crowley watched him with dread for a long moment, trying to work up the will to leave the bed and obey the command. _

_Gabriel smiled, deceptively patient. "I could always come over there." _

_Crowley was on his knees before his master in a matter of moments. _

_Gabriel frowned, making a sympathetic little sound as he crouched in front of Crowley, reaching out a gentle hand to turn his face and examine the dark bruises he'd left there. "Oh, man, just look at you, sweetheart," he said with soft regret. "I really hate seeing you like this… let me help." _

_He lowered his hand to rest over the deep purple bruise under Crowley's ribs, and the demon drew in a sharp breath, biting his lip to stifle a whimper, keeping as still as he possibly could. But Gabriel didn't hurt him, just healed the damage before raising his hand and passing it over Crowley's face, until every last injury from the brutal beating was undone. _

_This… was not particularly reassuring. _

_In Crowley's experience, Gabriel only ever healed him when his intention was to inflict something much, much worse. _

_Gabriel's hand cupped Crowley's cheek, tilting his head up a little before shifting to run, soothing and affectionate, through his hair. _

"_I shouldn't have overreacted," the archangel admitted. "I told you it was your choice. And it is." _

_It was as close to an apology as Crowley had ever heard from him. _

_It felt like a trap. _

"_I-I'm your slave," he whispered, cautious, scared. "You - you can do whatever you want." _

"_You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Gabriel smiled, and the bitter note in his mild words sent a shiver down Crowley's spine. _

_He flinched a little, feeling irrationally guilty. He opened his mouth to speak, a desperate apology on the tip of his tongue. _

"_Shhh, it's all right," Gabriel reassured him, tolerant and soothing. "I told you it was your choice, and I meant it. And you know… there's still just _so many options_. I don't have to fuck you at all. I can find _much _more interesting ways to pass the time." _

_Crowley's stomach clenched, cold dread crawling up his spine. _

_Gabriel leaned in close, smiling against his ear. "I've got an idea…"_

_He stood up and moved aside, snapped his fingers, and suddenly there was a table in front of Crowley, about level with his shoulders where he knelt. It was slightly longer than the reach of his arms, with shackles positioned near either end, wide enough apart to make him spread his arms out, but not so far apart that it'd be painful - or really even all that uncomfortable. _

_Crowley was fairly certain that was by design. Gabriel never liked Crowley to be too distracted from whatever it was he was doing to him. _

_Gabriel stepped forward, lightly tapping the left shackle with two fingers. Crowley's mouth went dry, his pulse pounding in his ears - but he obeyed the unspoken command, extending his hands - first one, then the other - for Gabriel to bind him to the table. _

_Gabriel snapped his fingers again - and all at once there was an ornately carved golden bowl on the table. Panic sparked in Crowley's heart when he heard the soft splash of water, smelled the familiar holy scent of it. Frantic instinct overrode his training, and he struggled to pull away, but the shackles held firm. For one desperate moment, he thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he could just tip the bowl over, let it wash over him. _

_A few moments of agony - and then it'd be over. _

_The table was bolted down, and despite his best efforts, the bowl resting on it didn't shift an inch, though the sharp edge of the shackles was already tearing the skin at his wrists._

"_Easy, shhh, stop it now…" Gabriel's voice was hushed, falsely gentle, as he knelt behind Crowley, his hands resting at his hips, stilling him. "You're gonna hurt yourself."_

_His presence was suffocating; his touch sickening. Despair overwhelmed Crowley, and he sagged against the bonds, his head bowed against the edge of the table in defeat. Anguished, he pleaded, "_Why_?" _

"_See… see, that right there… that's the problem, Crowley." Gabriel's tone was a bit sharper then, with an edge of anger to it that made Crowley shiver. "You still seem to think I need a reason. The reason is _I don't need a reason_. You're _mine_."_

"_I'm yours," Crowley echoed, desperate to appease him - certain it was already too late. "I know, I'm yours, I know…"_

"_You are," Gabriel confirmed, reaching one hand up, over Crowley's bowed head and cupping a handful of the water, allowing it to spill back into the bowl a time or two as he continued. "Everywhere except in that little corner of yours, is that it?" He shook the excess water from his hand, carefully in the opposite direction of Crowley, before bringing his hand down, terrifyingly beyond Crowley's line of vision. "Not in that safe little space you've made for yourself…"_

_He brushed a single wet finger down Crowley's side, and Crowley instinctively, uselessly tried to pull his arm down to cover it, arched away from it with a choked cry of agony - but Gabriel's hand was firm and dry against his other side, holding him in place and not allowing him to escape. _

"_For you and your delusions," Gabriel continued, his quiet words touched with disgust. "A place where you can pretend that he didn't leave you, to _this…" _He spread his fingers and drew his damp hand across Crowley's stomach, and there was nowhere for Crowley to retreat except to push back against Gabriel's chest, gasping at the searing pain left in the wake of his touch. Gabriel took advantage of the opportunity to whisper into his ear, vicious, "... pretend that he _ever _loved you the way you love him…"_

_Crowley wasn't sure which hurt worse - the burn of the holy water, eating into his flesh, or the cruel words his heart half-believed._

"_This right here," Gabriel went on, dipping his hand into the water again, and then leaning back, away from Crowley, so that he could shake the searing droplets off his hand onto Crowley's back. "This is proof positive of why. Because you're not worthy, Crowley. If you were…" He shook his hand again, and Crowley shuddered with the inescapable pain, unable to stifle a strangled groan. "... then this wouldn't hurt you, would it? But it does - because you're _fallen_. You're an evil, fallen creature who could _never _be worthy of an angel's love." _

_He moved in close again, wrapping his arm around Crowley and burning a trail with his fingers from Crowley's shoulder, diagonally across his chest, his laugh against Crowley's ear low and taunting. _

"_What the hell were you thinking? He was _always _gonna give you up." _

_The pain stole Crowley's breath, hot tears streaming down his face. _

"_Just what exactly are you holding onto?" Gabriel's tone was sympathetic. "You're making this so much harder on yourself than it has to be. You're never gonna see him again. He doesn't _want _to see you again. He _gave you to me…"

_Gabriel's hand found Crowley's hip, trailing streaks of fire down his thigh. The pain was so intense, Crowley's legs shook with it; he thought he might collapse. Gabriel's dry hand rose to touch his forehead, pulling his head back against Gabriel's shoulder. _

"_... and now, I'm all you've got."_

_Gabriel rose to his feet then, moving away from Crowley, and he gasped, struggling to catch his breath in the momentary reprieve. Crowley couldn't see the archangel, but he could hear him as he went to the sink and rinsed his hands. When he returned to Crowley's eye line, he was drying them on a towel, which he then set down on the table next to the bowl. He crouched down beside Crowley again, taking his face in both his hands and turning it toward him. _

_Crowley'd _seen _him dry the water from his hands, but_ _still he flinched hard at the touch, braced for more pain. _

"_Look at me." _

_Crowley obeyed, his heart racing, eyes wide with panic. Gabriel's expression was serious, almost imploring. _

"_At least I _actually want you_." He shook his head sadly. "No one else ever will." _

_It hurt, it hurt more than Crowley could stand. He tried to pull away from the archangel's hands, shaking his head. "Please stop," he rasped. "Please…"_

_Gabriel let go of him in disgust, standing up and dipping his hand into the water again. Crowley cringed away from the sound as it splashed back into the bowl._

"_You ungrateful little whore." Gabriel's voice was a soft, calm contrast to his cruel words - but it rose with his frustration as he went on. "I take you out of that cell… give you a little bit of relief from your punishment… which _you deserve_, by the way!" he snapped. "You're a demon! Your existence is _supposed to be _Hell! And I give you something… so much better than that. And you don't appreciate it even a little bit, do you?" _

"_I do," Crowley insisted, trembling, desperate. "I do, th-thank you. Thank you, master…"_

"_See…" Gabriel shook his head, crouching down again beside Crowley and placing a finger against his captive's lips. The demon flinched, his heart lurching before he realized that the touch was dry. "... that word… on your lips… is a lie, isn't it, Crowley? Because you still don't really believe it. You're _still _holding out on me." _

_As he spoke, he tapped his fingers between Crowley's shoulder blades, sending a single drop of holy water trickling very slowly down Crowley's spine. Crowley cried out in agony, struggling to pull away. Gabriel just grabbed the back of his neck and held him down against the table._

"_How?" Crowley desperately demanded, his voice hoarse and breaking. "How am I holding back anything? You have _everything_!" _

"_Not everything." Gabriel shook his head, his mouth twisted into something jealous and ugly. "No, not yet. But I _will _have everything." He leaned in close, biting the words off next to Crowley's ear as his damp fingers slowly trailed_ _up the demon's back. "And whatever's left after that, too."_

"_There's nothing," Crowley whispered, desolate - though he knew it was a lie. "There's _nothing _left…"_

_He knew what Gabriel wanted from him, even before the archangel hissed it in his ear. _

"_Give him up," he whispered. "You're holding onto a fantasy, sweetheart. It was never real. He only ever used you." His words were trembling with frustration. "Can't you see I want more than that? I want you for _my own_." _

He didn't, he wouldn't have, _Crowley repeated to himself over and over desperately, though his heart sank with fear at the thought that it might be true. _Did he? He's right, you never deserved him, not for a second. And Aziraphale's not stupid. He was bound to see it, wasn't he? Why should he let himself be punished, let himself suffer, for you?

_Between the relentless pain, and Gabriel's insidious whisper in his ear, Crowley's doubts slowly infiltrated the hope he was clinging to, and his thoughts became muddled. The lessons Gabriel had taught him joined forces with the millennia-old lessons learned in his own Fall... and the warm light of his memories of Aziraphale began to pale, going in and out like a fading radio signal. _

"_Worthless, ungrateful, disobedient little serpent… you _deserve _this..." _

_Maybe he was. Maybe he did. _

_Gabriel had given him this room, taken him from the cold darkness of his cell and given him far more privileges than he'd had in what felt like forever - and even then, Crowley just had to go and fuck it up, didn't he? Provoke him, make him angry…_

_What was wrong with him? Why did he always end up bringing this on himself? _

"_Please, I'm sorry," Crowley sobbed out at last. "Please, stop…"_

"_We can stop." Gabriel's voice was hushed, reassuring, a warm, dry hand, cupping Crowley's cheek, thumb tracing his quivering mouth as he kissed his neck. "We can do something else. Up to you." He kissed him again, just below his ear. "It was _always _up to you." _

_Crowley shook his head. He didn't want to give up that last safe place, that last shred of hope. _

_He was going to need it _so much _when this was over. _

_He shivered when he felt Gabriel's mouth against his skin go taut and angry, felt his hand tighten on his waist, as the fingers left his lips and reached up into the bowl again. The soft splash set Crowley's every frayed nerve on end, and he couldn't hold back the despairing sobs that rose in his chest. _

"_Please… no more, please…"_

"_There doesn't have to be any more," Gabriel insisted, imploring, patient, as if he was explaining something very obvious to someone who was just not getting it. "I can get rid of this holy water just like _that_." He snapped his fingers, but the holy water stayed where it was. "We can just go to the bed right now, and forget all of this." He cupped Crowley's face with his dry hand, kissed his jawline before pulling back a little._

"_I'll be gentle," he promised. "Hell, I'll even make it good for you, sweetheart." He met Crowley's eyes, piercing and intent. "All you have to do is ask." _

"_Please," Crowley whispered, dropping his gaze. "Please, you said I could choose…"_

_Gabriel's encouraging expression fell away, his eyes hard. "You're choosing," he said. "Right now." _

_And then, he started in on Crowley's wings. _

_Torturous touches, followed by gentle, soothing caresses… promises of relief and comfort, mingled with his cruel, degrading words. All of it tumbled together into a confusing, delirious mix, as the fever of Crowley's agony overwhelmed him. Between the pain and the shame and the utter desperation, he couldn't focus. Couldn't think. Tried to take himself back to Aziraphale's memory, back to the safety of the bed… to remember what he was trying so hard to hold onto. _

_It all felt distant and faded, like something from another life. _

_All there was, was Gabriel. Gabriel's hands, fingers wide and trailing slow, fiery streaks along both sides of his ribs. Gabriel's voice, whispering vicious condemnation in his ear. _

"_Please stop," Crowley whispered, hopeless. "Please…"_

"_Do you really want me to stop?" Gabriel's voice was hushed, his hands going still. _

"_Yes," Crowley sobbed. _

_Gabriel was quiet for a moment, before asking a heavily weighted question._

"_What do you want me to do instead?" _

_Anything would be better than this. Crowley knew what Gabriel wanted. He hesitated. He didn't want it, he didn't, but he simply couldn't take another moment of this. Shame heated his face, broke his words, as he whispered, "Fuck me." _

_Gabriel leaned back away from Crowley, reaching over Crowley's shoulder for the towel and carefully drying his hands. He wrapped one arm around Crowley, pulling him back against him, dragging his head back onto his shoulder and stroking gently through his hair. _

"_Where?" _

_Crowley swallowed slowly, let out a shuddering breath, struggling with it - though he couldn't really remember why. He knew it was important - it had been important - that he not give in. But it didn't feel important anymore… not as he watched Gabriel's free hand trail across the edge of the table, teasingly close to the bowl of holy water. _

"_In the bed." Crowley felt something crack apart inside him - that last tiny piece he'd been holding onto. It was gone just like that, with just a few whispered words - shattered into dust. _

"_You're inviting me," Gabriel clarified, and Crowley noted distantly that it seemed an odd choice of words. "Into your bed." _

_Crowley nodded, tears falling from his eyes. Tears of relief, tears of shame, of loss… what was the difference? He couldn't seem to find it anymore._

_He could feel Gabriel's smile against his skin, the moment before he kissed him just below his temple and whispered, "That's a good little whore."_

_All at once, Aziraphale's memory in Crowley's mind was crystal clear again - and the horror and disgust on his angel's face, the sheer _betrayal _\- it was crushing. Crowley broke down completely, tears of shame streaking his face as Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the shackles fell away from his aching wrists. He choked back a cry of pain as Gabriel lifted him into his arms and carried him across the room to the bed. _

_Gabriel lay Crowley down on the soft mattress, half on his stomach, half on his side, and then snapped his fingers. Crowley shuddered when he felt Gabriel's bare skin against his back, closing his eyes and fighting back a wave of nausea. He was still in so much pain, overwhelmed with a tumult of emotions, and it didn't help that for once, for the very first time, Gabriel was _gentle… _so gentle, his hands tracing over Crowley's skin, deliberately avoiding the holy water burns he'd just inflicted. _

_When Crowley felt Gabriel's hand slide around from his hip to reach between his legs, his stomach lurched, and he reached his own hand down to weakly push it away. Gabriel had promised to "make it good" for him, but Crowley did not want it to feel good. _

_Gabriel didn't care what Crowley wanted. _

_His grip became rough and forceful as he caught Crowley's sore wrist and jerked it up by his head, pinning it down to the mattress, squeezing until Crowley whimpered. _

"Do not _fight me," he growled in Crowley's ear. "I'll touch you where I want… and when I want. This body…" He let go of Crowley's wrist, and Crowley left it where he'd placed it, fighting back fresh tears as Gabriel allowed his own hand to drift idly down Crowley's stomach. "This body… is _mine_. Isn't it?" Crowley nodded numbly, eyes closed. Gabriel's hand cupped between his legs, his voice still soft but warning as he repeated, "_Isn't it_?" _

"_Yes," Crowley whispered. _

"_Say it." Gabriel's voice was hard, demanding. _

"_M-my body is yours." Crowley had never felt so empty, so desolate. _

"Master_." _

"_M-master," Crowley whispered, the required response falling from his lips automatically. "My body is yours, master." _

"_But… not _just… _your body. Right, Crowley? _Everything_. Every part of you." _

_Crowley nodded numbly, closing his eyes. _

_Gabriel's fingers found the burns he'd traced into Crowley's ribs, and he squeezed viciously, the pain stealing Crowley's breath. _

"_E-every part of me," Crowley echoed, breathless, desperate, tears of pain falling from his eyes. "Yes, e-everything, _please…"

"_Is _mine_."_

"_Is yours," Crowley sobbed. "Every part of me, 's yours, master, please…"_

_Satisfied, Gabriel's touch eased, his hand soothing down Crowley's side for a moment as he kissed his neck before murmuring, "Very good." _

_And he continued touching Crowley as he pleased - but his touch became more careful, gentler. Never once had he been concerned with Crowley's pleasure or comfort, not really - but this time, as he prepared to fuck his slave, he took care not to hurt him - any more than could be helped with his body covered in burns, anyway. His hands were cautious, attentive, as he stroked Crowley until to the demon's utter shame, he felt himself beginning to harden under the archangel's attentions. _

_This was worse. Worse than anything Gabriel had done to him so far. Worse than the feeling of the archangel's body moving inside him, against him, aggravating the holy water burns. When Crowley came, he cried, burying his face in his arm, overcome with shame. _

_Gabriel came a few moments later, but stayed where he was, buried in Crowley's body, and took a little time to catch his breath, leaning down to kiss the back of Crowley's neck, as Crowley wept into the pillow. He was so distraught that he almost didn't notice when Gabriel snapped his fingers again. _

_He did notice the soft splashing sound near to the bed, and his heart seized up in panic. He raised his eyes to see a much smaller table that had materialized right beside the bed - the bowl of holy water sitting on it. _

"_No, no," he cried out, pushing away from it - which only pushed him closer to Gabriel. _

_Gabriel wrapped a strong arm tight around his shoulders, stilling him, stifling him, speaking low and warning against his ear. _

"_You don't tell me no." _

"_Please, you promised," Crowley sobbed, but gave up physically resisting as Gabriel pressed him back down onto his stomach, face down - his back fully exposed. "I did what you wanted, I did it…" Crowley desperately pleaded, though the words were muffled against the pillow. _

"_Shut up," Gabriel instructed him, his tone hushed and mild. "The less you move, the less this will hurt. You wouldn't want me to have to start all over." _

_Crowley didn't know what that meant, but it was not in the least reassuring. Even so, he kept as still as he could, aided by the weight of Gabriel's body, still buried in him and pressing down on his thighs, holding his lower half down, and Gabriel's free hand firmly holding the back of his neck. He was completely pinned, helpless. _

_And then he felt the searing heat of the holy water against the base of his spine. It was just the slightest tip of Gabriel's finger, slow and careful, tracing an intricate pattern - but it was agonizing, and Crowley found himself trying uselessly to pull away, desperate, choked cries escaping his lips. Gabriel didn't seem bothered by his weak struggles, and easily held him down until he was finished. _

_Finally, Gabriel's hand at his neck softened, stroking his hair soothingly, and he shuddered when he felt Gabriel's lips press a kiss to the bare skin right next to the mark he had made. _

"_Shh, that's it," he soothed Crowley. "It's done. You want to see it?" _

_Crowley couldn't bring himself to respond. _

_Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a mirror appeared in his hand. He held it up to the mark he'd made, and snapped his fingers again. The image lingered in the mirror when he brought it up to show Crowley, who found himself compelled to look, despite himself. As much as he dreaded it, he had to _know_. _

_His chest constricted, a cold, hollow sensation washing over him as he took it in. The symbol for his own Enochian name, overlaid with Gabriel's - Gabriel's name darker, oppressive somehow, the edges winding around the edges of his symbol as if binding it in place. And interwoven with both symbols was a third Enochian word. _

_The symbol for "slave". _

"_This makes you mine," Gabriel informed him, snapping the mirror out of existence and finally pulling out of Crowley's body, shifting over on the mattress so that he was lying half on top of him. He kissed his neck, stroked his hand slowly over his shoulder and down his arm. "Forever. No one can _ever _take you away from me now." _

"_No," Crowley whispered, horrified, shaking his head as he turned his face into the pillow. _

_Gabriel laughed softly. "Too late," he teased, a hushed whisper in his ear. "You already asked for it."_

It was over.

Aziraphale had seen everything. What Crowley had done, how he'd betrayed him. He _knew_, now - why Crowley wasn't worth the risk, why he shouldn't even be bothering with the broken fucking _mess_ that was left of him.

And it was over.

Crowley drew his hands away from Aziraphale's head and broke their connection, wrapping his arms around his own body instead - no longer daring to touch. He kept his eyes down, awash in his shame, heart racing with a steadily rising fear that matched the swiftly swelling fury he could feel coming from Aziraphale, as the angel's shock was slowly swallowed up in _blinding rage_.

"I'm sorry," Crowley whispered, shaking his head, tears cooling on his face. "I'm so sorry…"

"_Crowley_…"

He didn't register the desperately gentle sound of the angel's voice at first - just the hand that reached toward him, and he flinched away, holding up a pleading hand between them. He closed his eyes, anticipating the outraged slap that he deserved.

_Disgusting whore…_

"Crowley… look at me, darling…"

A soft, warm hand grasped his and pulled it down. Aziraphale clasped his other hand as well, and Crowley reluctantly opened his eyes to find the angel on his knees on the bed facing him. Aziraphale ducked his head a little, seeking eye contact, and Crowley could refuse him nothing.

He was stunned by the compassion, the sorrow in his eyes.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

It was ludicrous. "I accepted him," Crowley argued, disbelieving. "I _invited_ him. I - I _asked_ him for it!"

He felt a fresh wave of anger from the angel, Aziraphale's hands tightening around his for just a moment. Maybe he _got it_, now. Aziraphale drew in a deep, shaky breath. He was going to scream at Crowley, to slap him, to make him sorry for his betrayal. For being such an unfaithful little slut.

And then, he was going to throw him out.

If Crowley was lucky. If he didn't march him right back through the gates of Heaven himself.

A vivid image filled his mind of Aziraphale throwing him down at Gabriel's feet in disgust.

"_Here, I believe this belongs to you…"_

Aziraphale reached toward Crowley's face again, and he flinched - but his touch was gentle, firm and reassuring as he insistently turned Crowley's face up toward his. "My dear, if you think you _consented _to that, you couldn't be more wrong. I saw it. It was _not your fault_."

A lump began to form in Crowley's throat; his eyes felt hot and prickly.

"He - he gave me a choice…"

"That was no choice." Aziraphale's voice was emphatic, almost severe, as he stroked one hand up from Crowley's cheek into his hair, his other hand gripping Crowley's shoulder as he held his gaze, arresting and unyielding. "There was _no choice_, my darling. This was not your fault. It _was not_."

Crowley kept very still. He felt fragile, on the verge of losing control completely - like everything inside him was a breath away from shaking apart. The barest inkling of hope stirred, warm in his chest, a chance he barely dared to cling to… that he might be _forgiven_.

There was still a smoldering anger alight in Aziraphale's eyes, but it didn't match the aching tenderness of his touch as he shifted cautiously closer to Crowley and wrapped strong, gentle arms around him, pulling him half into his lap and holding him tight. Crowley bowed his head against the angel's shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath, as relief overwhelmed him and the tears escaped his eyes.

"I saw it, Crowley, and it was something that was forced upon you." Aziraphale's voice was calm but fierce, filled with righteous anger, and a surprising sort of stillness. "I could never, ever blame you for that. It was forced upon you. It was brutal, and immoral and - and _illegitimate_, and it will not stand. _It will not_."

The emotions pouring off of Aziraphale at that moment were strong, but more than a little confusing to Crowley. Unmistakably, there was anger, bordering on _rage_, even - and an aching depth of heartbreak that Crowley knew was for him, however unworthy of it he knew himself to be. But overlaying it all was a strange sense of calm. Not a forced, controlled sort of calm, but _actual_ serenity.

It was actually a little frightening.

He swallowed slowly, lifting his head and drawing back a little from their embrace, in order to try to see Aziraphale's face, to read his expression - but he'd never seen such a look on his angel's face before, and that - well, that was _also_ a little frightening.

"Aziraphale," he began cautiously, his words coming out low and hoarse. "Are - are you…?"

"I'm quite all right, darling," Aziraphale assured him, reaching for his clothes where he'd left them hanging off the side of the bed. "It's just that… things are much clearer now. Now that I understand what's actually been done to you. What _Gabriel did_. And I know what we have to do. What _I'm going_ to do."

Crowley blinked at him, startled, as Aziraphale kissed his cheek and rose from the bed, beginning to get dressed. He couldn't even begin to _imagine_ how they could get out of the mess they were in - but Aziraphale's certainty sparked the faintest trace of hope in his heart.

"You do?"

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale gave him a bright smile, though Crowley had to take a moment to remind himself that the cold anger glittering in his eyes was not directed at him. "You see, I've decided."

His shirt and trousers on, Aziraphale stopped for a moment, taking in Crowley's expression - and his own softened at the alarm he must have seen there - the alarm that was steadily building in Crowley's chest. Aziraphale took a breath, then reached out to touch Crowley's face again - tender, his eyes softening and filling with the familiar, reassuring warmth and love Crowley was used to seeing there - in sharp contrast to his cold, precise words.

"Gabriel is going to die."


	24. Chapter 24

_Discorporation was Crowley's last, best hope. _

_It wasn't as if he _liked _the idea of going back to Hell - of losing the familiar body in which he'd spent the last 6000 years, of being stuck Below until his superiors got around to issuing him another one. _

_That was, if they were willing to issue him another one at all. _

_He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been gone, but he was certain it was long enough for his disappearance to have been noticed. Best case scenario, Hell had no idea that he'd been captured by Heaven, or at least no idea _why _he'd been captured, and he'd only be punished for either his unexplained absence, or for his weakness in letting himself get caught. Worst case, Hell did know why Heaven had taken him, and he'd be punished for "fraternizing with the enemy". _

_In any case, Crowley was now certain - nothing Hell could do to him would be even _close _to what Gabriel had done to him._

_There was only one thing that had kept Crowley from trying it thus far. _

_Aziraphale._

_Discorporation was a messy affair. It could take a millennium to get a new body - and that was for a demon who wasn't in Hell's bad books, wasn't deemed worthy of punishment. Given Crowley's circumstances, it was quite likely he'd never make it back to Earth at all. _

_Never make it back to Aziraphale. _

_A detail that had carried far more importance for Crowley while he'd still believed that Aziraphale might actually _want _him back. _

_He didn't believe Gabriel when he told him that Aziraphale had turned him over to Heaven, had condemned Crowley and exonerated himself in the same breath. He didn't believe it - not all of the time. He held out the thinnest fiber of hope that Aziraphale had not betrayed him, that he was out there somewhere searching for him. Eventually, maybe, he'd find him, rescue him, take him home. _

_And then - he'd find out what Crowley had done. He'd learn how Crowley had been unfaithful to him. _

_How he'd _chosen Gabriel _over him. _

_And Aziraphale wouldn't want him anymore. _

_For all the relative comfort of his new room, Crowley had still been left with no way to gauge the passage of time. So he waited until just after Gabriel had left… waited a little longer, just to be sure the archangel wouldn't be coming back right away… and then took the mirror down from behind the sink, and shattered it on the floor. He found a piece of the broken glass with a clean, sharp edge - and then put that edge to his wrist. _

_An icy rush of pain flared up as the blood welled from the cut, dripping down his arm to stain the pristine carpet - and then a searing jolt of agony from the collar that seized every muscle in Crowley's body, dropping to his knees and jarring the makeshift blade from his hand. It seemed that Crowley wasn't allowed to commit any act of violence - even against his own body. _

_But it _wasn't _his own, was it? Not anymore. _

_The pain was intense, perhaps a level 09 punishment, at least 08. It made it impossible to think, impossible to pick up his makeshift weapon again - impossible to do anything but simply surrender to his suffering. _

_It lasted for hours that felt like days, before Gabriel finally showed up. _

_Crowley raised red-rimmed, shadowed eyes and stretched out a pleading hand toward the archangel, who just silently took in the scene - the pain-ravaged demon collapsed over his folded legs amidst the shattered shards on the blood-stiffened carpet. _

"_Please," Crowley gasped out, desperate. "Help me, please…"_

_Gabriel looked down on him a moment longer, impassive, before raising his hand and snapping his fingers. The mess of blood and broken glass disappeared from the floor. _

_Crowley's pain continued. _

_Without a word, Gabriel turned and walked out again, leaving Crowley to the fever of his suffering. _

"_No," Crowley whispered, weak and breathless as he dropped his head against the floor, helpless tears leaking from his eyes. "No, come back…" _

_Gabriel didn't, not for several interminable hours. When at last he did return, he once again stood over his suffering, shaking slave, glaring down at him in silent contempt. _

"_Please," Crowley choked out, crawling across the brief distance that lay between them, pressing his head against the smooth leather of Gabriel's shoe, trembling fingers barely daring to brush against his ankle. "Please, master. Please, I'm sorry…" _

_Gabriel crouched down, running his hand through Crowley's hair, but not touching the collar. Abruptly he caught Crowley's injured wrist and jerked him back up onto his knees, his voice dangerously soft as he held the wound up clearly within Crowley's sight, shaking him a little. _

"This _was very, very stupid." _

_Crowley nodded, desperate tears streaking his face, utterly pliant in his master's grasp. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, breathless. "Please, master, please help me…" _

_Gabriel passed his free hand across Crowley's wrist, leaving smooth, healthy skin in its wake. Then he sighed, as if just _so very tired _of Crowley's mistakes, and Crowley lowered his head, shame burning in his face. _

"_I'm sorry," he whispered, despondent. "I'm sorry…"_

"_I know." _

_Gabriel relented at last, his tone going gentle, and Crowley felt a rush of premature relief, even before the archangel touched the dial on the collar and turned it back down to 02. Still holding Crowley's wrist, Gabriel rose to stand over him again, watching and waiting patiently until the pain had passed and Crowley had caught his breath. Residual tremors shaking his body, Crowley lowered his brow against Gabriel's hand, gasping. _

"_Th-thank you… thank you…" _

_Gabriel jerked his hand away, and Crowley flinched, feeling oddly hurt and bereft._

"_Look at me," Gabriel commanded, cold and angry. _

_It took Crowley a couple of hesitant tries before he could lift his gaze as high as the archangel's eyes. When at last he managed it, Gabriel backhanded him sharply, knocking him back down to the floor. Crowley stayed where he'd fallen, shaking as Gabriel moved in closer, his shoes mere inches from Crowley's face. _

"I _decide if you live or die," Gabriel snapped. "No one else. Least of all you." _

_Crowley nodded against the soft carpet, eyes closed, braced for more punishment. "Yes, master," he said softly. _

_He flinched away as Gabriel crouched next to him, dragging him up and pushing him back against the wall. He held him there with a hand at his throat, not tight enough to restrict his breathing, but tight enough that he couldn't move. _

"_But… you weren't really trying to _die_, were you, sweetheart?" Gabriel's voice had gone deadly soft again, a cruel smile on his lips, his breath hot and close against Crowley's face. "You were trying to _escape. Again_. Do you remember what happened last time you tried to escape me?"_

_A shiver ran down Crowley's spine, and he was unable to suppress a pleading whimper as he nodded, eyes closed. _

_He remembered. _

"_Let's say you did. Let's say your little emo_ _self-destructive act here actually _worked_, and you managed to escape back down to the Basement." Gabriel's voice was falsely light, almost amused, and Crowley's heart raced with rising panic. He didn't know where Gabriel was going with this, and he was terrified to find out. "What do you think happens then?" _

"_Th-they punish me," Crowley concluded, confused, desperately hoping he was answering correctly. "I - wouldn't be able to leave…"_

"_What if you could?" Gabriel pressed, his tone speculative. "What if they let you go? Let you go right back to that moldy little bookshop and your pathetic excuse for an angel, in a brand new body?" _

"_Y-you'd find me?" Crowley guessed weakly, at a loss. _

"_Well, yeah." Gabriel conceded with a little sideways nod, rolling his eyes as if that was just _so obvious_. "Not my point."_

_He shifted in closer to Crowley, his free hand reaching behind him to find the barely healed sigil he'd burned into Crowley's flesh. Crowley flinched, letting out a choked, pleading little cry as Gabriel's finger traced the lines of the symbol there. _

"_That brand new body…" Gabriel continued, his voice hushed, measured. "No matter what it looked like… no matter what you try to do about it… it'd still have _this mark_. Still _belong to me_." _

_Crowley's blood turned to ice in his veins, panic clutching his chest as he looked up at Gabriel, too startled to remember not to. _

_Gabriel laughed. "What, you think a bond like the one we made only lasts as long as your earthly body? It's _eternal_, Crowley. You're mine _forever…" _His hand spread out, his palm covering the mark, and his gaze darkened with anger. Crowley gasped, as a searing pain flowed through him from the point of contact, and along with it, a dark, heavy, suffocating sense of the archangel's possessive _rage _at his offense. Gabriel bit off his words in Crowley's ear, cold and menacing. _

"_And _I don't like it_, when you try to leave." _

_Terrified by the overwhelming menace he felt from Gabriel, Crowley shivered, lowering his head, trying to make his posture as low and small as possible. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry…" _

_Gabriel let go of Crowley's throat to run the backs of his fingers down Crowley's face, and Crowley flinched so hard that his head smacked painfully into the wall behind him. Gabriel dug his thumb into the mark on Crowley's back until he moaned with pain, his hand sliding around to grasp Crowley's hair and pull him in close so he could speak softly next to his ear. _

"_Oh, sweetheart… you will be."_

_For weeks, Gabriel was cold and ruthless in his demands on Crowley - punishing him at every turn for his mistake, showing no mercy as he resumed his rigorous tests, hurting Crowley any time he made even the slightest error - using the newly formed mark on Crowley's back to overwhelm Crowley with the heat of his displeasure, until he'd tremble and cry and plead for another chance. _

_Crowley desperately sought to please him, to anticipate his desires, to follow through his every command to perfection - and managed to succeed, mostly, in doing so. He would be ready and waiting when he'd hear the lock turn and his cell door open, head bowed, kneeling in Gabriel's favorite position of subservience, desperately hoping that he could do enough, could obey perfectly enough, to cause the archangel's wrath to be abated. _

_And gradually… eventually… it was. _

_The day finally came that Gabriel crouched down in front of him, tilting his head up with a light touch, instructing him to meet his eyes. "You're doing very well, Crowley," he said. "I'm very pleased." He was gentle with Crowley that day when he fucked him, and left him with an affectionate hand through his hair, a warm smile, and a cryptic statement. _

"_Maybe you're ready for a little bit more freedom." _

_Crowley pondered those words with mingled alarm and hope, all during the long hours until Gabriel returned. To Crowley's surprise, he snapped his fingers - and all at once, Crowley was dressed in the same black shirt and trousers he'd worn_ _when he'd been taken. He barely had time to adjust to the now foreign sensation, the welcome warmth of the fabric brushing over his skin, before Gabriel turned and walked back out the door, calling instruction over his shoulder. _

"_Come on." _

_Crowley scrambled to his feet, his head low and his pace quick to keep up with his master as they passed down several hallways, enough corners and doorways that Crowley knew he'd never have been able to find his way back. Gabriel stopped at a narrow doorway, taking a step back and extending a hand to usher Crowley in. _

_Crowley froze as he took in the cold, white-tiled room - exactly like the one where his eyes had been taken from him. He turned swiftly, instinctively - running directly into Gabriel's broad chest. The archangel caught his wrists, jerking them up in front of him, a cold, warning edge to his voice as he used his grip to back Crowley up into the center of the empty room. _

"_You weren't thinking of running, were you?" _

"_No," Crowley gasped, breathless, shaking his head. He wasn't sure if it was a lie or not. He fell to his knees, bowing his head against his wrists, still held tightly in Gabriel's grasp. "Please, master… _please_, master…" was all he could manage, his heart racing. _

_Gabriel's hands went gentle on his arms, and the archangel crouched down to face him. His voice was low and intent, leading. "You belong to me." _

"_I-I belong to you," Crowley echoed, desperate, pleading. _

"_I want this to happen… so it's _going to_. Do you understand me, Crowley?" _

_Crowley could barely hear him over the rush of his own blood in his ears, sick with panic. He nodded, tears falling from his eyes. He didn't know what "this" was... but he _did _understand. _

_If Gabriel wanted it, it would be. It was that simple. Fighting it could only make things worse. _

_Gabriel released Crowley's wrists, and he dropped his hands to the floor, drawing in several deep, shaky breaths as he tried to steady himself. Gabriel's fingers carded through Crowley's hair, soothing and reassuring to match the tone of his voice. _

"_You're going to stay on your knees. You won't move. You won't make a sound."_

_Crowley nodded, biting his lip, struggling to stifle his overwhelming terror. _

"_I'm not gonna lie to you," Gabriel said, his voice not without sympathy. "This is gonna hurt." He tilted Crowley's head up, and Crowley obeyed the unspoken command, turning wide, panicked eyes up toward the archangel. "But you know what would hurt worse?" His voice was soft, patient. _

"_Disobeying you," Crowley whispered, swallowing slowly. _

"_That's right." Gabriel granted him a smile and a nod of approval. His smile faded, his expression solemn as he stated, "I can trust you to behave for this - to be good for me. I know I can." His hand on Crowley's jaw tightened warningly, his tone going cold as he leaned in close. "Prove me wrong and we go right back to the beginning. All the way."_

_Crowley's heart lurched, and he nodded as much as he could within Gabriel's grasp, eyes closed. "Yes, master."_

_Gabriel released him, and moved back to stand near the wall, as the door opened and four angels filed into the room. The archangel simply observed, his slave shivering on the floor as the nameless angels took hold of his wings and stretched them out across the cold tile. Panic was a crushing weight in his chest as one angel knelt on either side of him, bracing their knees against the upper bone of each wing and pinning them in place, forcing his body to fold lower over his knees. _

_Then the other two angels took hold of his right wing, on either side of the upper joint, and _pulled _\- and agonizing pain shot through the restrained limb. Crowley couldn't help it, the wing fairly moved of its own volition, weakly struggling to escape the pain, a choked cry escaping his lips despite his best efforts to keep silent. Impassive, unbothered by his reaction, the angels just pressed him down harder as cold metal was jammed into the space they'd made, stretching tendon and compressing bone and settling a sharp ache deep in the abused wing. _

_But they weren't finished. _

_In similar fashion, a slightly smaller ring was forced into the second joint of the same wing, before they finally released their hold on it, leaving it weakly spasming with pain - as they pitilessly moved on to his left wing. _

_It took all four of them to do the second wing. Keeping still was harder, now that his body was anticipating the pain, knew how bad it was going to be. Crowley tried hard to obey, but it just _hurt so much_. When the first ring went into his left wing, a second choked, desperate cry escaped his lips, and his heart sank as he glanced fearfully up at Gabriel. _

_The archangel was just observing - his expression calm, his violet eyes merciless as he watched Crowley fail his instructions. _

_He was going to be punished. _

_It was over fairly quickly, but the sharp ache in his joints, in his bones, remained, his wings shuddering at the painful intrusion. Their task completed, the four angels left the room, and Gabriel's slow, measured footsteps echoed against the tile walls as he drew nearer to Crowley. _

"_I-I'm s-s-sorry," Crowley hissed through the pain and terror, bowing his head low, one hand held up pleadingly in front of him as Gabriel knelt down facing him. "I-I'm so sorry, master, I tried…" _

"_Shhh." Gabriel's hands were surprisingly gentle as he guided Crowley's head down against his knees, fingers running soothingly through his hair. "It's all right. You did well." _

_He snapped his fingers, the normally quiet sound sharp and echoing in the room, and Crowley flinched as the clothes Gabriel had given him vanished in an instant. He shivered with the cold air and the cold ache in his chest, the fear as Gabriel's free hand stroked down his back until it found his mark. _

"_I'm sorry," Crowley sobbed softly. "I didn't mean to, I couldn't help it." _

_He cringed, braced for the overwhelming onslaught of mental and physical pain as Gabriel accessed their connection, prepared for the feeling of vindictive fury - but that wasn't what he felt, not even close. Instead, a sensation of warmth and reassurance washed over Crowley as Gabriel's hand gently covered his mark. He felt his fear give way, and he trembled with relief, grateful, unsteady hands reaching up to touch the archangel's knees. _

"_I said it was all right. I meant it." Gabriel's tone was stern, but warm, his fingers careful and gentle in Crowley's hair. "I know that was very difficult. I know it hurt. You did your best. You've pleased me." He was quiet for a moment, before adding, a darker note to his words, "Sometimes… pleasing me will hurt. And sometimes, you won't be able to help it." _

_His hand left Crowley's hair for a moment to touch the cold metal ring nearest his hand, and a twinge of pain passed through the violated limb. With an effort, Crowley managed to keep still, despite the chill that passed through him with Gabriel's softly ominous words. _

"_That's what these are there for. For when you can't help it."_

_Crowley swallowed with difficulty, his mouth dry, heart racing. He lifted his head a little, enough to respond in a hoarse whisper. "Y-yes, master." _

_With an approving little hum, Gabriel put his hand back in Crowley's hair, and the demon's taut, trembling shoulders dropped with relief, his face falling back against his master's knees. Gabriel gave him a little time to recover, then actually helped him to stand. He kept a hand on his shoulder as he walked him back to his room - a hand that actually felt supportive, reassuring, as opposed to oppressive. _

_Crowley couldn't shake his fears, as he thought about what Gabriel had said, and wondered what dark purpose he might have had in disfiguring his wings this way. He wondered if he was about to find out, when they reached the privacy of his room. But Gabriel didn't hurt him any further, simply let him go to his bed and rest, and left him alone. _

_And the next day was the first one since his capture that Crowley did not spend locked in a cell. _

Aziraphale's mind was made up, the instant he saw what Gabriel had done to Crowley.

It was sick, and sadistic, and a violation of things that were sacred and intimate and intended for purposes far above the archangel's base, depraved pleasure - taken at the expense of the one who was dearest to Aziraphale in all the universe.

His dear Crowley, broken and pleading under the force of Gabriel's soft brutality.

Aziraphale pushed down the searing heat of his own wrath - with ease, this time. His fury was no longer frustrated. He knew what he had to do. A perversion of Heaven's light and power, a _monster_ like Gabriel, could not be allowed the opportunity to hurt Crowley - or anyone, for that matter - ever again.

He could not be allowed to live.

Aziraphale had a plan - a plan that he'd considered before, but reluctantly dismissed. Because it would reveal the doubts he held for Heaven and the archangel. Because it would place him at odds with his family and his faith. Because it would reveal, once and for all, to everyone, that he _loved Crowley_. That Crowley was _his_ \- and he was Crowley's.

There was no room or reason for hesitation now.

Aziraphale's need to be aligned with Heaven was swiftly fading, in favor of his need to protect his love from further abuse. He had to ensure that Gabriel couldn't get near enough to hurt Crowley again.

And he knew just how to do it.

Aziraphale could feel Crowley's rising alarm as he moved swiftly, purposefully around the room, completing his daily process of getting dressed. Shirt, trousers, socks - all sorted. He sat in the chair next to his bed to slip into his shoes, then stood up. The demon rose from the bed behind him, his voice hushed and horrified as he tracked Aziraphale's movements.

"Aziraphale, what are you talking about? You can't _kill Gabriel_. He's an archangel, he's way more powerful than you are! He's a fucking _archangel_… angel."

Aziraphale glanced up at him with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. "See, there? Too many angels in that sentence. No one will mind if I eliminate one of them."

Crowley was utterly unamused.

"_Everyone _will mind!" he insisted, raising his voice, following Aziraphale across the room to his closet where he retrieved his vest. "He's got a position, authority, you do this and they'll kill you… you do this and _you'll fall_!"

The thought wasn't nearly as frightening to Aziraphale as it once would have been. Perhaps he no longer wanted to be an angel, if angels could go around so freely behaving as Gabriel had done. Perhaps he no longer wanted to be aligned with the side that would condemn him for protecting Crowley, while defending the sadistic monster who had abused him.

"I have to keep you safe," he stated, terse and quiet. "That's _all_, Crowley. I'm not going to argue about this."

"Oh, well, _I am_," Crowley declared, standing directly in Aziraphale's path when he turned away from the closet, his golden eyes wide and worried. Aziraphale stifled a sigh and stepped past him, taking his bow tie from the nightstand and running it under his collar. Crowley persisted, following him and moving to stand in front of him again. "Angel, you're not being rational about this. I know you're angry, and I know it's for me and I love you for it, but you're just not thinking. You need to stop and _think_, about what's important, about what _matters_…"

Offended at Crowley on Crowley's own behalf, Aziraphale turned to face him at last and gave him a severe look. "I _am_ thinking about what matters!" he snapped.

All the fear in Crowley's eyes was _for_ Aziraphale, not _of_ him. He didn't flinch, just stood there staring at Aziraphale, searching his face with wide, solemn eyes.

Aziraphale softened, his shoulders falling as he took a step closer to Crowley, his hands gently cradling Crowley's face as he held his gaze. "_You_, Crowley," he said, with quiet, fierce intensity. "_You are what matters_."

The demon's lips parted, and he ducked his head, closed his eyes, tears slipping through lowered lashes. He swallowed back a sob, drawing in a breath to steady his voice before he looked back up at Aziraphale.

"I _can't lose you_."

Aziraphale's hand stroked back through his hair, and he leaned in to kiss his tears away, then kissed his brow, gently shushing him.

"You won't," he promised, drawing back again to meet Crowley's eyes, serious and intent. "If he hasn't fallen yet for what he's done to you… then I can't believe _I'd_ fall for what I'm going to do to _him_."

Aziraphale saw the protest in Crowley's eyes, the slow shake of his head as he opened his mouth to argue. Aziraphale pressed his fingertips gently to Crowley's lips, because he knew the argument, and he knew where it came from. It both broke his heart and ignited his fury that Crowley should believe his suffering less meaningful, crimes against him less costly - simply because of what he was.

"You did not deserve it, Crowley," he insisted fiercely. "What he did was _evil_. What you deserve is _this_, with me, _what we have. _He was as wrong to hurt you as if you were an angel, or a human, or anyone else. You _did not deserve it_."

Crowley relented a little, closing his eyes, turning his face into Aziraphale's hand, and Aziraphale cupped his cheek, blinking back tears of his own.

"Will you trust me?" he asked softly. "Trust me to save us, love?"

Crowley drew in a shaky breath, let it out sharply - but he nodded, and allowed Aziraphale to pull him into his arms, lowering his head onto his shoulder, allowing himself to be reassured.

Aziraphale drew back after a few moments, stroking his hand gently across Crowley's shoulder, glancing down in momentary hesitation before meeting Crowley's eyes again and speaking, softly entreating.

"Please, darling… will you let me see your wings?"

Crowley bit his lip, a slight frown creasing his brow - but he _did_ trust Aziraphale. He brought forth his wings, his eyes darting to Aziraphale's hand as he raised it, the glow of his grace shining in his palm. He looked back at Aziraphale sharply - and Aziraphale just held his gaze and waited... waited for his word. Crowley swallowed slowly, his voice hushed and haunted.

"He'll be angry."

Aziraphale's gaze didn't waver, his words quietly certain. "Doesn't matter. He'll _never touch you_ again."

He watched the war in Crowley's eyes… watched with relief when his trust won out, and he nodded shortly, bowing his head, pulling his wings forward a bit. Aziraphale passed his hand over them, from the tip of one to its root, stopping long enough to protectively, affectionately cup the back of Crowley's head and kiss him softly, before moving on to the other wing and healing it as well.

Once every cut, every bruise, had vanished and beautiful, gleaming black feathers had grown back, lush and full, Aziraphale focused his attention on the detestable rings wedged into Crowley's joints - one vanished, and then the next, and then the next, until all were gone, and his worn, stretched tendons regained their original shape, dislocated bones knitting back into place where they were supposed to be.

Crowley nearly collapsed with relief, his arms falling on Aziraphale's shoulders, as he drew in a couple of deep, sobbing breaths. Aziraphale put his arms around Crowley's waist and carefully sat him down on the edge of the bed, holding him through the shock of his healing. As he did, he glanced over the rest of Crowley's body, healing away any remaining trace of injury he found.

He looked down, over Crowley's shoulder, his eyes falling with revulsion on the only remaining blemish - Gabriel's hateful mark.

He wrapped one arm a little tighter around Crowley's waist, steadying him as he slid his other hand back, a wordless warning as to his intention. Crowley lowered his head onto Aziraphale's shoulder, tensing, braced for it, but not telling him to stop.

"Hold on, love," Aziraphale said softly, cupping his hand lightly over the mark.

To his relief, his efforts didn't seem to cause Crowley any pain - but neither did the mark go away. Aziraphale frowned, and felt a little rankling at the _relief _he felt from Crowley at the failure of his attempt. Crowley seemed to catch his reaction, giving him a sad, guilty little smile.

"He'd be so angry," he explained, halting and fearful. "To find it gone."

"It doesn't matter if he gets angry," Aziraphale assured him, kissing him gently. "I told you. He will never touch you again."

Crowley didn't look convinced - and Aziraphale could hardly blame him for it.

But this was a promise he meant to keep.

And he knew how he was going to go about it. He had everything he needed in his shop - and what he didn't have, he knew how to get. He was not only determined, but _certain_.

Gabriel would die.

Crowley would be safe.

If it cost him all of Heaven to accomplish it.


	25. Chapter 25

Silent, anxious, Crowley sat on the edge of the sofa and watched as Aziraphale busily arranged his supplies on the living room floor. The coffee table had been pushed out of the way to leave room for a chalk circle about three feet across, marked with various Enochian sigils around its outer and inner edges. When the circle was finished, Aziraphale placed a candle on either side, and one in the middle, carefully lighting them before backing off to survey his work.

Crowley didn't really understand what it was Aziraphale was doing.

He hadn't exactly slowed down enough to say much of anything from the moment they'd left the bedroom.

"There isn't any time, Crowley, I'll explain everything after, I promise."

And he had asked Crowley to _trust him_, so… Crowley did.

Seeming satisfied that all was in order, Aziraphale sat down on the side of the circle farthest from Crowley, his legs crossed under him. He looked up to meet Crowley's eyes with a bright, anxious smile, reaching out a beckoning hand toward him, though he was too far away to reach him.

"Come, join me, darling."

Crowley swallowed slowly, giving the circle a suspicious look before conceding, "... All right."

Aziraphale indicated the space opposite him, and Crowley carefully mirrored his position on the other side of the circle. When Aziraphale reached out for his hands, Crowley let him hold them, and closed his eyes when Aziraphale closed his. His eyes opened again sharply when Aziraphale began to speak - in the language of the angels, older than time itself.

This was no human magic. The angels would know that Aziraphale had performed this - whatever _this_ was. It would not be hidden to them.

It seemed Aziraphale was no longer interested in hiding.

Crowley closed his eyes again and listened, with a vague understanding building as to what Aziraphale was doing, as the angel went on in the tongue that was native to both angels and demons.

After all, they'd once been one and the same.

In English, roughly, it translated to, "_Facing threat of attack, fearing accusation and punishment, I claim this place, my home, my own, as sanctuary. Allow none to enter here without my consent. Within these walls, none shall harm me, and I shall harm none. Outside these walls, I accept my fate. Inside them, I am safe for as long as I shall remain."_

The word "sanctuary" was mildly alarming. Crowley deeply hoped that Aziraphale wasn't accidentally consecrating the floor of his flat - but he trusted him. He was intelligent, he was thoughtful, he'd no doubt done his research and knew what he was doing.

When Aziraphale had finished speaking, he let go of Crowley's hands and picked up a sharp, silver blade he had laid next to him. With careful precision, he sliced a neat line across his own palm, from which golden blood flowed. He looked at Crowley with a regretful wince, his uninjured hand extended, palm up, for Crowley's. Crowley sighed, suppressing a somewhat dark smile, and gave his angel his hand.

It was laughable that Aziraphale thought a tiny cut across his hand merited an apology.

Aziraphale clasped their bleeding hands together over the center of the circle until wet drops fell into the candle, extinguishing it, and a swirl of light, mingled gold and blood red, rose around their joined hands. A moment later, a flare of blue-white light rushed up along the edges of the circle and passed up through the ceiling - gone as quickly as it had appeared.

The candles had gone out, and all was quiet, and Crowley wasn't burning where he sat, so he allowed himself to relax a little. Aziraphale seemed relieved as well, releasing a deep sigh and giving Crowley a smile that was no longer anxious.

"It was supposed to do that, then, I take it," Crowley concluded, still feeling quite dubious about the whole thing.

Aziraphale nodded, appearing supremely satisfied, as he turned Crowley's hand palm up in his own. The angel's hand - bleeding only moments ago, but now whole - hovered over Crowley's cut palm until the small wound had vanished. Once that task was finished, Aziraphale rose from the dusty carpet, brushing off his trousers with both hands.

"Want to tell me what this is all about now?" Crowley persisted, an eyebrow raised as he took the hand the angel offered him and allowed him to pull him to his feet.

"Of course. Just a moment, love."

With a wave of Aziraphale's free hand, every trace of their ritual vanished, the coffee table shifted back into place, and the living area was - well, as tidy as it ever was. Crowley noticed, a bit uneasily, that Aziraphale was being rather liberal with his miracles at the moment. Satisfied that all was back in place, Aziraphale turned toward the sofa, leading Crowley with him as he sat down.

"Just… one more thing."

He met Crowley's eyes with a worried little frown, then reached toward the collar, but stopped and waited without actually touching it. Crowley frowned and drew back a little, alarmed. It was already set to 01; he couldn't imagine what Aziraphale might want to do to it.

The angel's voice was soft and even as he held his gaze and reminded him with quiet certainty, "I won't harm you, darling."

Crowley's mouth was dry, and his pulse quickened a bit, but he nodded once, bracing himself as Aziraphale pressed a couple of buttons on the side of the device. Nothing happened, but the angel sat back a little with a sigh.

Crowley frowned. "What did you just do?"

"According to that blasted handbook, hopefully, just activated the 'manual override' option," Aziraphale explained, seeming unsettlingly uncertain about it. He took the remote from his pocket, and Crowley's stomach did an uncomfortable little somersault. "If I did it correctly, then - this should no longer be functional." He gave Crowley an apologetic little grimace. "We ought to test it, to be sure. The worst it will do is to go one level higher..."

Crowley swallowed, staring at the remote for a moment, before nodding slowly.

Aziraphale leaned in closer to Crowley, allowing him to see exactly what he was doing as he pressed the button to take the setting up - just once. The remote flashed _02_ a couple of times before reading _01_ again.

The number on the collar's readout screen never changed, and Crowley felt no pain.

Aziraphale smiled.

"What did you just _do_?" Crowley repeated, a little confused.

"I've locked this remote control device out of the system." Aziraphale was beaming now, quite pleased with himself. "As well as any alternate controllers Gabriel might have lying about."

A little shiver went down Crowley's spine. The idea of Gabriel having his own controller that he could use at a distance was not a new one to him; it was still quite unsettling to think about it. Aziraphale studied his face, his expression softening with compassion, and then shifted closer to Crowley on the sofa, wrapping a reassuring arm around his shoulders and reaching out to take his hand after putting the remote away.

"Now the setting can only be changed by the controls on the collar itself." His voice had gone soft and serious, and he waited a moment for Crowley to process the implications, before reminding him, "And _he can't get in_."

Crowley blinked, feeling a little overwhelmed at the realization.

Gabriel no longer had access to the collar. _At all_.

"How…" His voice broke over the word, and he stopped, composing himself before he continued, hushed and wondering, "How did you know to do that?"

"I've known for a little while that it was possible," Aziraphale admitted with a rueful little smile. "It's amazing the things you can learn when you obsessively study one single thing for weeks on end - with a frustrating lack of success, I might add." He shook his head a little, mouth pursed in distaste at the residue of that frustration. "But I did discover this. I was amazed that it didn't require archangel, approval like any other potentially useful features in that damned manual all seemed to. I suppose he may have overlooked it, or may never have realized the capability was there to begin with." He hesitated a moment, his arm around Crowley gently squeezing, before he explained. "I wanted to use it as soon as I discovered it, but - I couldn't. If I had..."

"He'd have taken me back." There wasn't a shred of doubt in Crowley's mind. He looked up to meet Aziraphale's eyes, gently squeezing his hand. "You were right not to use it." He frowned, feeling a little sick at the thought of Gabriel's reaction when he discovered what Aziraphale had done. "Angel… even now, are you _sure_…?"

"I'm sure." Aziraphale was quietly emphatic, holding Crowley's gaze. "Before, I feared bringing retaliation on you, if he discovered I'd altered the settings. But now…"

"Now you fear nothing, apparently." Crowley gave his angel an appraising look, just slightly less impressed than he was worried by Aziraphale's nerve.

Aziraphale's crystal blue eyes were serene and certain. "Now I fear nothing," he confirmed softly.

It was a frightening, bordering on _foolish_, statement.

But Crowley knew that Aziraphale was anything but foolish.

He had simply made up his mind. He was ready to _act._ Whatever his plan was, he had set aside any fear of the potential consequences. He was determined to free Crowley from Gabriel's influence, to _end_ Gabriel, _period_… and not in the slightest dissuaded by the very real possibility that it might be the last thing he ever did - that it might cost him _everything_.

Crowley hated it. He knew it was far too dangerous, Aziraphale making plans to take on a _fucking archangel._

He also knew his angel well enough to know that there was nothing he could do to change his mind.

_Now I fear nothing…_

Crowley suppressed a shiver. "Because of that?" He waved a hand vaguely toward the spot where they'd just performed the ritual. Aziraphale nodded once. Crowley sighed, and asked yet again, a third time, "So… _what_ did you just do?"

"I've claimed sanctuary," Aziraphale explained. "It's an old angelic practice, but there is precedent for demons using it as well. I'm fairly certain it hasn't been used by anyone in quite some time. It was originally designed to be used by any angel or demon who believes themselves to be in danger from their own kind…"

"You sound like a textbook," Crowley pointed out dryly.

"Thank you." Aziraphale beamed.

Crowley didn't have the heart to draw attention to the idea that it had been, possibly, _not_ a compliment - most likely because he realized after saying it that it sort of was, and his heart was simply _consumed_ with a sense of warm fondness for his bookish angel.

"Perhaps an angel perceives that they're about to be accused of wrongdoing and brought to trial," Aziraphale suggested. "Or perhaps for some personal reason, another angel wants to hurt them. They may do this ritual and claim sanctuary in their own space. Then no other angel can come into their home without an invitation, and once allowed in, no one can perform any miracles intended to do harm within that space." He gently squeezed Crowley's hand, his eyes warm and eager, searching Crowley's face for the delight and excitement he obviously felt in what he was revealing. "And, as the two of us just completed it _together_, this home should be safe from both angels _and_ demons. The bookshop - the flat - a completely safe space. _No one_ can harm us here."

"Unless I've just ruined it," Crowley suggested unhappily, his worries creeping in again. "This might be the first time an angel and a demon have ever _tried_ it together. What if it doesn't work for you... because you did it with _me_?"

"_Crowley_." Aziraphale's warm, soft hand found Crowley's cheek, turning his face gently toward his, his eyes and tone stern but loving. "_Stop_. Any angel or demon can perform it. You have as much right to it as anyone." His eyes were solemn as he stated firmly, "He can't come in. He can't hurt you. He can't _touch_ you."

Crowley _wanted_ to stop. He really did. But now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to shake the nagging fears playing around the edges of his thoughts.

"What if while we're here, _hiding_… he's off rallying Heaven against us? What if he convinces them to come after us, and they find a way to reverse it?"

"There is no way to reverse it," Aziraphale reassured him. "It was never considered necessary. You see, as long as we're within the walls of the sanctuary barrier - _we_ can't perform any harmful miracles, either. Think of it like… placing oneself on house arrest, in order to avoid a much worse penalty. No one will come after us, because we won't be a threat to anyone." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "_She_ designed it Herself, Crowley. And even She has never violated it. You're _safe_. You can rest… take a break…"

Crowley bit his lip, uncertain. "What if he stops time again?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Then I suppose you'll get a break from _me _as well, for a bit. Doesn't matter. He _can't come in_."

Crowley wanted to believe it. It was incredibly tempting to believe it, and… Aziraphale usually knew what he was talking about.

"We can't just… stay here forever, though…"

"The sanctuary barrier _will_ last forever, if necessary."

Crowley gave Aziraphale a _look_. "I love you, angel, but…"

Aziraphale laughed. "Yes, yes, and I'd like very much to keep it that way," he agreed. "I know that's… untenable, long-term. Lord knows we'd _both_ go mad in… a decade or two." The teasing sparkle in his eyes was infectious, and Crowley felt the slightest bit of his worries melt away. "At any rate, I do have a plan. I just need to double-check a few things, but in the meantime..."

"We're safe," Crowley concluded, blinking in disbelief. "Until we figure out what to do next."

He found himself not quite able to process it. Gabriel couldn't get in. It'd been over a year since he'd been in a place where Gabriel _couldn't get in_. In the back of his mind, a dark little voice whispered that he'd likely _never_ been in a place where Gabriel couldn't get in; he could get in _anywhere, he'd find a way, he's probably working on it right now…_

"Right." Crowley tried to suppress the rising anxiety in his voice, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. "So… now that we're safe, what do we do next?"

"What's next… now that we're safe…" Aziraphale shifted a little closer to Crowley on the sofa, sliding an arm around his shoulders, his voice soft and soothing, "... is that we _stop_ for a moment. Breathe. Rest." He hesitated a moment, then ventured, "Perhaps… talk?"

Suddenly, Aziraphale's searching gaze felt a little too intense… a little too close. Crowley's mouth went dry, and he dropped his gaze, all at once feeling more exposed, more… _seen_, than he'd felt since coming home. Too much had been happening all at once for Crowley to stop and _think_, but… now that he could…

_All_ he could think about was the images he'd shared with Aziraphale - because of the sharing, vivid and real as the day they'd happened, nightmare memories coursing through his mind. He could _feel _Gabriel's cruel, grasping hands… hear his insidious whisper in his ear… smell the acrid scent of the holy water.

He could see it all, as it was when it had happened.

And… _Aziraphale_ had seen, too.

_Everything_.

Well… not everything, exactly, but… _enough_. Enough that Crowley didn't even want to _think_ about "talking" right now. His shame was a weight in his chest, crushing in on him again, like Gabriel's body heavy on his, pressing him down into the mattress, holding him there, suffocating. He couldn't breathe, felt a cold sweat break out across his brow.

Aziraphale had insisted that it wasn't his fault, he hadn't had a choice, but he _remembered choosing_. He remembered repeating after Gabriel, saying words he hadn't meant, such treacherous, unfaithful words that had spilled from his lips so easily.

_It was only pain… you had a choice… unfaithful little slut…_

Crowley shut his eyes, trying to shut it all out.

"I-I can't talk about that…" His words were halting, broken, and he hated the little catch in his voice.

"You needn't, my love." Aziraphale's voice was hushed, soothing, and he turned Crowley's face toward him. "Crowley, my dear, would you look at me, please?"

Crowley obeyed, blinking, trying to clear his head and focus on the warmth and concern on Aziraphale's face.

Aziraphale was concerned because he _knew_.

_Knows what he did to you, knows what you did, so disgusting! How can he even touch you now? Worthless little demon whore..._

Crowley felt himself being sucked down again, into the darkly spinning vortex of his own thoughts.

"_Crowley_." Aziraphale's voice was sharp, and Crowley looked up at him again, wide-eyed and a little panicked. Aziraphale softened a little, watching him closely. The concern in his eyes had morphed into worry, now. "It's all right. You're safe. You're safe here with me, and you don't have to do a single thing or say a single thing you don't want to. You don't have to talk. All right?"

Crowley nodded gratefully, swallowing back the sick feeling in the back of his throat and leaning his head forward on Aziraphale's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him.

"That's it," Aziraphale encouraged him, soft and cautious. "You're not there anymore, my darling. Just be here with me…"

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and suddenly the rather stiff feel of his usual attire gave way to soft cotton, and Crowley realized he had miracled himself into his pajamas.

Crowley was still wearing his.

"Come here, yes, that's it," Aziraphale coaxed him, settling into the corner of the sofa and adjusting his position so that Crowley could lie against his chest, between his legs. "Just rest, love… I know it's overwhelming, but I promise you that you're safe. You're _safe_, now. And you can rest."

The soft words had a hushed, hypnotic quality, and Crowley gradually found himself closing his eyes, settling in against the warmth and softness of his angel. Everything was moving so quickly, and he didn't understand what Aziraphale's plan was, and it could all go so terribly wrong, and there was _every reason_ to be scared, but all at once…he simply didn't have the energy to panic anymore.

Being scared all the time was _bloody exhausting_.

Aziraphale's hand stroked slow and rhythmic, back and forth across his shoulders, once in a while brushing up and down his back, and Crowley, against his better judgment, begin to relax. Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long while, and then broke the silence, his hushed tones still clear in the stillness.

"I know you don't wish to talk about what you showed me, Crowley…"

The demon's hands clenched a little at his angel's sides, his heart leaping up into his throat, and Aziraphale's hand at his back rose to slide gentle fingers through his hair.

"You don't have to," Aziraphale hurried to assure him. "You don't have to, my love…" Crowley could feel his hesitation crackling in the air between them, heavy and waiting. "... but… would it be all right if _I_ talked about it, a little?"

Crowley felt sick.

He should have known it was coming. Aziraphale had been running at full steam since he'd seen Crowley's memories, determined to protect him, determined to avenge him - and now, he'd sat here in the quiet, actually _thinking_ about what it was he'd seen. _Of course_ he was upset about it. _Of course_ he was hurt, and angry, and needed to talk about it.

Crowley couldn't deny him that.

He nodded slowly against Aziraphale's chest. Aziraphale kept gently stroking his hair, as he began to speak into the quiet.

"First, my dear… thank you for showing me. I - I thought I understood, but - I really had _no idea_. How bad it really was for you. The things you went through. It was _so brave_ of you to show me, and I'm glad you did, because… I do think now I understand a little bit better. And - there are some things _you_ need to understand as well…"

_Here it comes…_ Crowley braced himself for deserved judgment.

"I would never, _ever_ have betrayed you to him. _Never_."

All right, well… it wasn't what Crowley had expected Aziraphale to start with… but it still made his face flush hot, his eyes sting with guilty tears.

"I-I'm sorry…"

"_Don't_." Aziraphale cut him off in a tone that somehow managed to be both sharp and gentle at the same time. "Crowley, I understand exactly why you'd have had to wonder. I couldn't possibly blame you for that. You were isolated - from me, from _anyone_, for so long, with no communication, no information at all besides his wicked lies whispered in your ear. _Of course_ you couldn't be sure."

A wave of relief washed over Crowley at the understanding in Aziraphale's voice, though he wasn't sure he deserved it.

"I'd never have given you to him. I had no idea of the things he was capable of, but even so - I'd have _never_. I'd have died first. I'd have _fallen_ first."

A cold quiver of fear started in the pit of Crowley's stomach. "_Don't_…"

"I won't," Aziraphale promised, hesitating just a moment before admitting in a voice barely over a whisper, "But I would. To spare you a single moment of that… I _would_."

The clear, simple devotion in Aziraphale's words made Crowley's chest ache, and he turned his face in against the softness of Aziraphale's body, drawing in a shaky gasp.

"It wasn't your fault, Crowley. And - you showed me more than just what happened to you, love, so - I know you feel that it was. But it wasn't. Not any of it. You were _powerless_, my darling. You couldn't so much as raise your hand to defend yourself - in that room, and for so very, very long before." Aziraphale paused, and when he spoke again his words were measured and clear, "Had you done as he asked _at once_, without a single touch of the holy water… you _still _would not be at fault. No one can consent when under such duress. It was not your fault, and I could never blame you. No matter how much he tried to twist it to make you believe you were responsible - _you were not_."

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment before repeating, aghast, "_Holy water_… as if that's evidence of _anything, _besides his own sadism!" He went on with indignation and quiet outrage in his voice, "As if it proves _you're_ somehow… evil, or - or _less_. You are _not_."

Aziraphale shifted his position a little bit, pushing at Crowley's shoulder so that he'd sit up a little, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes. Crowley was surprised to see that his angel's eyes were wet with tears, his gaze earnest and sure, as he spoke a blessing over his demon with such pure, honest devotion that it made Crowley _ache_.

"You are _worthy_. You are _good_. You _are not_ what he made of you."

Overwhelmed, disbelieving, Crowley bit his lip, blinking back tears as he looked away. Aziraphale insistently turned his face back up, a touch of fiercely protective anger glittering in his eyes as he declared, "_You are not his_. That wretched mark - I won't go so far as to say it's _meaningless_; that would be an insult to you and all that you suffered, but - it is _not_ what he thinks it is. It is _not_ eternal."

Crowley stared up at him, feeling hollow and vulnerable, barely daring to hope. His own voice sounded very small and scared to his own ears, a soft, faltering question.

"It - it's not?"

"No, my love," Aziraphale assured him, a gentle hand caressing his cheek, the pad of his thumb catching a tear and wiping it away. "And very soon, it won't be anything at all."

Crowley frowned a little, studying him, trying to read his expression. "What are you going to do?"

Aziraphale smiled. "I have an idea. It bears a bit more research first, I'm afraid." His smile was touched with regret. "I suppose I'll have to brush up on a bit of angelic history to be sure, but… it's not a legitimate bond… and that means it can be broken." He ran his hand through Crowley's hair, very tender and gentle. "Even if it was performed in a legitimate manner - and it wasn't - such things require _consent_, Crowley. And you _did not_ consent."

Crowley lowered his head, stifled by his shame. "I gave in to him," he reminded Aziraphale, words hushed and broken. "I - _asked_ him to fuck me, instead of hurting me. I was weak, I - I s-surrendered…"

"You are _strong_." Aziraphale's tone brooked no argument. "You held out for so long, my darling, that it's simply _awe-inspiring_. I'm not at all sure I could have held out for so long under such abuse."

A sense of horror came over Crowley at the very _thought_ of Aziraphale, forced into captivity and suffering the way he had over the past year. Crowley looked up at his angel, worried and wondering just _how much_ Aziraphale had seen - how much he'd _felt_.

"You thought about it," the angel explained gently. "About the weeks before he… marked you. And about the time before that, in - in the other cell. You - remembered those things, while it was happening. Because I was in your memory, I - I saw and heard them, too. The things you _remembered_ him doing and saying to you. So - I know that this was not the first time. This was not even the tenth time. Countless times he hurt you, violated you… and you remained strong. You kept telling him no. I'm in awe of you, Crowley."

"Well, I'm in _disgust_ of me," Crowley whispered, lowering his head against Aziraphale's chest again, swallowing against the ache in his throat. "I betrayed you."

"You did not." Aziraphale's protest was immediate and indignant.

"He told me to forget you and invite him in. And I did it."

"You _did not_ betray me, Crowley," Aziraphale insisted. "And you _never_ forgot me. Not _once_."

He sat up then, pushing Crowley back and shifting their positions until they were both sitting up, and he was facing Crowley, one arm low around his waist, the other hand gently cupping the back of his head and stroking through his hair. Crowley's head was downturned, his hands trembling a little where they rested against Aziraphale's chest.

"Listen to me, Crowley," Aziraphale urged him gently, his voice hushed, low and thick with emotion. "I _saw_ you… in that soft, warm little corner of your own personal Hell… that secret place where your every thought was of me. Where you _longed_ for me."

He touched Crowley's face, then, tenderly, where bruises had been, just like Crowley had _dreamed_ of being touched, when there had been nothing but pain. Crowley closed his eyes against the tears, the swelling ache in his chest, his hands sliding down to cling to Aziraphale's waist. Aziraphale's touch was near reverent as he stroked Crowley's hair, just as he'd imagined when he was all alone and always waiting, waiting in the midst of a faded dream, for the nightmare to return.

"You need to know," Aziraphale continued, his words slow, measured, and adoring. "You _must_ know... that I was longing for you too. Not nearly for so long as you had to, but I was longing for you. Missing you. Trying to find a way to bring you home to me."

"You _did_ bring me home," Crowley reminded him, his voice choked with his gratitude.

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment, and Crowley could feel his hesitation as he touched his hair, gently kissed the corner of his mouth, then finally ducked his head to meet Crowley's eyes - his own anguished and desperate.

"Please," he whispered at last, "please don't leave again. Not - not of your own choice."

Crowley stared at him a moment, trying to work out what he meant. He _hadn't_ left of his own choice, he'd been taken. What did he mean, _don't leave of your own_…?

And then, he felt the chill of Aziraphale's fear, saw the helpless, lost look in his eyes - and he understood, even before Aziraphale went on.

A vivid image flashed through Crowley's mind - _a golden bowl filled with holy water… a table bolted down too tightly for him to shift it..._

"I - I understand why, given your circumstances. Why - you were tempted to. But - I know that… that things are not always going to be good, even - even once this is over. Even once he's…" A rush of vengeful anger washed over the angel for just a moment, just the barest instant before he closed his eyes and swiftly tamped it down. He looked at Crowley again, solemn and sorrowful. "These things will be a part of you, and they will hurt, and - and you'll want them _not_ to hurt. You'll want them to _end_."

Aziraphale's words were desperately loving, hushed, and tender.

"_Please stay with me_."

Tears burned in Crowley's eyes, and he looked away, awed and humbled by the depth of devotion he felt behind Aziraphale's words. He didn't know why he loved him so much, after everything he'd seen, everything Crowley was putting him through, even now.

But he _did_ know that he could never break his angel's heart like that - never leave him that way, after everything he'd sacrificed, was still sacrificing, to save him.

"I will, angel," Crowley promised. He'd only ever thought of ending it because he _couldn't_ be with his angel. As long as Aziraphale wanted him... he couldn't possibly leave. He hesitated before amending softly, "As - as long as it's up to me… I will."

"It will be up to you," Aziraphale stated firmly. "I'm going to make sure of it. No one will ever take you again. You'll be safe, my darling. No one can harm you now."

And Crowley realized, quite suddenly and with a shock, that he _knew_ it was true.

For this moment, in this place - it was true. He wasn't sure about tomorrow, or the day after that - wasn't sure what would happen when Heaven or Hell inevitably came for them. But for now, he _was_ safe... in this house where Gabriel could not enter. The archangel could not intrude on them, could not come storming in to wrest him from his angel's arms.

_For now_… he _was_ safe.

And it was more than he'd had in as long as he could remember.

_Trust me,_ Aziraphale had pleaded. _Trust me to save us…_

And Crowley realized with a soft, still sense of peace stealing over him, that _for now_… he did.


	26. Chapter 26

_Following the procedure, Gabriel gave Crowley a few days for his wings to heal a bit - although true healing was impossible with the cold, intrusive metal, pushing his bones apart, stretching tendons to their limits, making his wings throb with every movement. A few days of rest did help a little, though; the sharp, overwhelming pain gradually faded into a dull ache that remained, but with less intensity. _

_Crowley could almost forget it was there. Some of the time. He'd had worse. _

_At the sound of the key in the door, Crowley left his bed and knelt in the center of the room, waiting with his eyes on the floor. Gabriel entered without a word, standing there for a moment looking at him, before slowly circling him. Crowley kept carefully still, even as his heart raced with fearful anticipation - even when Gabriel's hand caught hold of the top ring in his right wing, lifting it up to inspect the work he'd had done. _

"_Does this hurt?" Gabriel asked in a tone of mild, dispassionate interest. _

"_No, master," Crowley answered, before amending with a little wince. "A-A little, master." _

_It didn't hurt any worse because Gabriel was touching it. The metal was set tightly into the joints, not shifting when Crowley would move his wings. _

_Gabriel tugged a little harder, experimental, and Crowley closed his eyes, braced for worse - but there was nothing more than the same dull ache he was becoming used to feeling. Finally, to Crowley's relief, Gabriel released his grip on the ring and instead stroked a gentle hand down the ridge of the wing instead. _

"_Good," he said, quietly satisfied. _

_Crowley flinched a little when Gabriel snapped his fingers behind his back - then blinked down in surprise at his own body, as it was suddenly clothed again. He swallowed slowly. The last - and only - time Gabriel had given him clothes to wear had been for the placement of the rings. He hesitated, sick with fear, before venturing to softly speak. _

"_M-master…"_

"_Shut up," Gabriel replied, his tone mild. "_Get _up. Come with me."_

_Crowley followed him from the room, his steps quick to keep pace with the archangel, as once again they moved through a series of hallways, though along a different route than before. This time, Crowley noticed other angels around. Standing in small groups having serious-sounding discussions that fell into silence as they passed. Sitting at desks and abruptly ignoring whatever they were working on in favor of turning their heads to stare at him. _

_He kept his eyes focused on the clean white floor ahead of him. _

_Crowley only dared to raise his eyes once Gabriel had led him through a glass door, into a spacious room with all glass walls as well. It was apparently sound-proof, as the chatter from outside the door disappeared the moment it closed behind them. There was an impressive, polished wood desk with a comfortable chair, several filing cabinets, a couple of book shelves laden with volumes whose apparent age and titles would have had Aziraphale drooling. _

_A pang went through Crowley's chest, and he closed his eyes, shut out the memories of a dusty old bookshop, morning light streaming through the windows, the scent of tea and old books familiar and inviting. Aziraphale's expression of delight when some treasured, new-but-very-old volume he'd been waiting for arrived in the post. _

Don't think about him. He's done with you. Won't see him again.

_Gabriel's hand closed around the same ring he'd examined earlier, and Crowley's chest clenched, but Gabriel just led him around to the side of his desk before letting go of the ring in favor of pressing down lightly on his shoulder. Crowley folded to his knees where he was directed. His eyes were drawn to a sturdy iron ring that had been bolted to the floor, as Gabriel picked up the chain that was attached to it, and attached the other end of the chain to the ring in Crowley's wing. The chain weighed heavy on Crowley's wing, dragging it down a little lower than the other, but it didn't hurt, exactly. _

_Gabriel sat down at his desk and began to work - making phone calls, going through the papers that had been left on his desk since the last time he'd been there - and for a while, Crowley was mostly ignored. Every once in a while, an angel would knock on the door, and Gabriel would beckon them in. Crowley kept his eyes carefully focused on the front left leg of Gabriel's impressively expensive desk. _

_A couple of the angels sounded a little distracted as they spoke, and Gabriel's impatient sighs and terse tone raised a slowly building tight anxiety in Crowley's chest. _

_At one point, a nervous angelic underling standing in his doorway, Gabriel snapped, "Focus! Up here!" _

_Crowley swiftly looked up at him, eyes wide with panic, wondering what instruction he had missed. Gabriel didn't turn his head to look at him, kept listening to his employee. The only indication that he had even noticed Crowley's movement was an instant's glancing eye contact, and a slightly amused, upward quirk of his mouth. After a moment, Crowley realized that he had been speaking to the angel in the doorway - who had almost certainly been staring at _Crowley_, and not paying attention to her boss. _

_Once she had left, Gabriel reached down and grasped a handful of Crowley's hair, slowly, deliberately, shoving his head down low against his chest. Crowley's mouth went dry. His breath caught in his throat. _

"_I'm sorry, master," he whispered, quick, instinctive, his heart racing. _

"_What was she talking about, Crowley?" Gabriel asked, deceptively soft. _

"_I-I don't know," Crowley stammered. "I wasn't." He swallowed convulsively, struggling to maintain his composure. "I wasn't listening." _

_Gabriel smiled, his hand sliding lower to rub the back of Crowley's neck, a gesture that might have been reassuring if he wasn't still pressing Crowley's head insistently downward. His voice was a low, menacing rumble in Crowley's ear. "Good. Keep doing that. The affairs of Heaven are _none of your business_." _

"_Yes, master." _

"_You looked me in the eye," Gabriel continued, his tone still level and perfectly, chillingly calm. "In front of my subordinate._ _As if you have the right." _

"_S-sorry," Crowley gasped out, tears springing to his eyes, fighting his rising panic. "I'm sorry, I thought…" Gabriel's hand tightened slightly in warning, and Crowley bit back the rest of the excuse, closing his eyes. "Doesn't matter what I thought," he amended. "I'm sorry. Won't let it happen again."_

_Gabriel smiled. "If necessary, I can help _make sure _it doesn't happen again."_

_A mental image of the archangel's cruel smile over him while he lay restrained, unable to move his head… an eyedropper filled with holy water, carefully positioned inches away… _

_Crowley struggled to keep it together, to find the right words to appease his master. _

"_No…" He flinched, trying again, "I-I mean… it won't be. Necessary. I - I won't do it again, master." _

_He shook his head a little, desperately emphatic, against Gabriel's tight grip on his neck… and at last it eased. Gabriel silently returned to his work, and Crowley's panic gradually faded away until he was able to allow himself to relax a little bit. _

_After some time had passed, Gabriel rose from his seat and unfastened the chain binding Crowley to the floor, and led him from his office. The minute he was back in his room, Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the clothing vanished, leaving Crowley completely exposed again. Crowley started to go to his knees, but Gabriel caught his hair and backed him toward the bed instead, pushing him down on the mattress. _

_It became a routine - Crowley kneeling at Gabriel's feet while he worked. On the second day, Gabriel miracled a file cabinet and a stack of files in front of Crowley and had him work, as well. From that point on, he would find jobs for Crowley to do - menial busywork to keep him occupied - while he went through his own daily tasks. _

_At one point, the Archangel Michael stopped by Gabriel's office, a brusque, quick tone to her voice as she delivered a message that Crowley made a very careful point of Not Listening to. Her words broke off abruptly when she noticed Crowley, and with an effort, he managed not to look up at her... not to cast a nervous glance at Gabriel, either. _

"_Are you sure that's a good idea?" she said, a note of disapproval in her voice. "Can you trust him to handle those without… sneaking a peek every now and then?" _

"_Yes." Gabriel's response was simple and certain. "He knows better."_

_Michael said nothing else, but Crowley could still feel her critical stare. _

"_He's a slave," Gabriel pointed out, with a matter-of-fact shrug. "He should be serving." _

_Crowley didn't really mind. He wasn't being beaten, or tortured, and it was better than the mindless boredom of _nothing _for hours on end. It was better than when Gabriel was finished with his work, and he would take Crowley back to his room - and Crowley would serve him there, as well._

_Michael let out a vaguely offended little huff of breath. "Surely there's a better term…"_

"_Not really, no," Gabriel cut her off, a finality in his tone that seemed to end the conversation - at least for the moment. _

"_I'll speak with you later," she said with a resigned sigh. "Privately."_

_Gabriel continued his work after she left, but his mood seemed to have shifted. After just a short time, he rose from his desk, smacking the papers in his hands down with irritation. Crowley resisted the desire to cringe away when Gabriel reached for his wing, well aware that it would only fuel the archangel's anger. _

_When they got back to Crowley's room, Gabriel was rough and violent, pinning Crowley down by his wrists, by his wings, squeezing until they throbbed... leaving blood on the sheets and a cold ache of fear in Crowley's chest. _

_Sometimes, on particularly stressful days for Gabriel, he wouldn't even wait to get back to Crowley's room. _

_Crowley would know it was coming, when the archangel would snap his fingers, and suddenly a faint blue-white light would trace the edge of the glass walls. He knew after the first time, and Gabriel's self-satisfied explanation - they had become mirrored glass on the outside; Crowley and Gabriel could see out - but no one could see in._

_Gabriel always made it hurt, these times, when the goal was not so much physical pleasure as it was simply to vent his frustrations. He would slam Crowley's head down on the desk as he bent his body over it, or even shove him up against the glass, where he could watch the oblivious angels going about their business outside the room. _

"_Do you think they'd help you?" Gabriel whispered, vicious and taunting between angry, punishing thrusts. "If they knew? Think any of them would dare to try to stop me?" _

_Crowley didn't think that, no. From what he'd seen, they all seemed just a little bit scared of Gabriel, too. Not nearly as scared as Crowley was, of course - and Michael, probably not at all, when he thought about it. _

_But Michael had seen the chains locked through his grotesquely disfigured wings… she had to have noticed the bruises on his face from Gabriel's most recent fit of rage… _

_She'd heard Gabriel call him "slave". _

_She'd done _nothing_. _

_The questions in the back of Crowley's mind… the ones he'd barely dared consider for fear of the dangerous path they could lead to… were silenced by the knowledge: whatever Gabriel's personal motives in doing all that he'd done to him… Heaven allowed it. _

_Heaven _condoned _it. _

Nothing _was going to change it._

_Eventually, Gabriel stopped bothering with the chains. He still required Crowley to stay on the floor, though he allowed him to sit rather than kneel when he'd work for long periods - always the same mundane, simple tasks, which were barely better than the total boredom of nothing._

_Then, Gabriel starting sending Crowley to run small errands for him. The first time he pulled Crowley to his feet and placed a file in his hand, instructing him sharply, "_Don't open it_," and "_Be back here in ten minutes" … _Crowley was terrified. _

_It was a trap of some kind. He was meant to fail, meant to be caught somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, and punished. It didn't matter, though, in the end. He had to do as he was told. _

_If Gabriel wanted to punish him... he'd be punished. Period. _

_The angel at the desk where he'd been sent refused to take the file from him at first, just eyed him suspiciously, and told him to wait while she called her superior. Increasingly anxious, Crowley paced a bit until she snapped at him to sit down. He swiftly obeyed, trying and failing not to fidget as he waited and wondered with a sinking heart how much time had passed since he'd left Gabriel's minutes… how many minutes were ticking by as he sat here helplessly doing nothing. _

_Finally, _finally_, he was called back to the desk. The angel took the file from his hand with two fingers, as if he'd contaminated it, eyeing first it, and then him with distaste. Crowley hurried back to Gabriel's office, near panic, dropping like a stone to his knees at the archangel's feet, breathless, stammered apologies spilling from his lips. _

"_Shhh, it's all right," Gabriel assured him, a reassuring hand at the back of his head. "You did well." _

_A rush of relief swept over Crowley; he nearly cried with it. He leaned into Gabriel's hand, grateful, as the archangel stroked his fingers through his hair for just a moment, before giving him a gentle push between his shoulders, directing him back toward his place, and his work. _

_Gabriel wasn't always so understanding, though. Some days, he seemed to be just _looking _for a reason to smack Crowley down. He'd try to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, tried to be invisible, helplessly watching as the archangel's mood grew darker and darker. And then someone would come in with a bad report, or an excuse as to why they'd failed in a task he'd assigned them - and Crowley could _feel _the tipping point, the moment when he _knew _Gabriel was going to find an excuse to hurt him. He'd always snap his fingers and miracle the glass to hide them from view. _

_Crowley wasn't sure why he bothered; the bruises after were always obvious, and no one seemed to mind. _

"_Can't you do _anything _right?" Gabriel snarled at him, with a breathtaking slap across his face. _

_Crowley knew he _had _done it right. He also knew he couldn't possibly say so._

"_I'm sorry," Crowley pleaded, but his heart sank, because he already knew how this went. _

_Somehow, something was always out of place on Gabriel's desk, or a file that Crowley _knew _he'd put away correctly was mysteriously out of place. It wasn't about Crowley's mistakes - non-existent mistakes that he was far too terrified to allow himself to make. It was about Gabriel's rage, and the excuses he made for himself to vent it. _

_Gabriel ignored his apology, snatching a handful of Crowley's hair and jerking him away from his work, still on his knees. Crowley bit back a cry at the searing pain, resisting the instinct to reach a hand up to try to ease it. Crowley knew that would only make him more furious than ever. There was little chance of appeasing the archangel at this point. _

_But… perhaps Crowley could _distract _him. _

_Heart thudding in his chest at the very risky move he was about to make, Crowley took a deep breath… and reached up a cautious, trembling hand to palm the front of Gabriel's suit pants. Gabriel froze, staring down at him in surprise. _

"_Please, master," Crowley forced the words out in a breathless rush. "I'm sorry I've displeased you, I didn't mean to, please let me show you I'm sorry, let me please you, let me help m-make it right…" _

_After a tense moment in which Crowley was terribly afraid that he might have just made everything _so much worse… _Gabriel's hand in his hair eased, and he sat down slowly in his chair with a slow nod, leaning back, elbows on the armrests and fingers steepled in front of him. His tone was one of soft, intrigued amusement. _

"_You can try." _

_Crowley let out his breath in a shaky rush, relieved, as he reached for Gabriel's zipper and slid it down, reaching in to take him out, ducking down so that his mouth was low enough to take him in…_

_Abruptly Gabriel grabbed his hair and jerked his head back again, a cold smile on his face, his words cruel, his tone soft, knowing. _

"_And then… I'm gonna beat the shit out of you. For thinking for _two seconds _that you could _manipulate _me, you stupid. Little. Fucking. _Whore_."_

_Gabriel let go of his hair, and Crowley gasped for breath. His lips parted to form an apology, but his heart sank. He knew it was pointless. He was guilty. Guilty of the attempted manipulation… guilty of _giving himself _to Gabriel in exchange for nothing more than a few minutes longer without pain. _

God. You _are _a stupid little fucking whore.

"_Well?" Gabriel smirked at him, one hand lazily, expectantly stroking down his own length. The soft contempt in his voice made Crowley flinch. "Go ahead. At least you're good for _something."

Crowley couldn't begin to imagine what Aziraphale's plan to kill Gabriel might be.

There were very few things in existence that could permanently destroy an archangel.

Discorporation was quite another story. An archangel could be discorporated in very much the same ways that any ordinary angel could be discorporated. The difference was in status. While most angels could wait for years, or even decades, to get a new body, a discorporated archangel could expect to receive a new body almost immediately when they needed it - and if they so chose, they could make their new body as much like their old one as they liked.

Discorporation, for an archangel, was a temporary inconvenience at worst - and Crowley knew that Aziraphale was not going to settle for anything so small. He had the tender, passionate heart Crowley was so desperately in love with set on Gabriel's permanent, utter destruction.

But permanent, utter destruction would be difficult to achieve.

Crowley had slept better the past two nights. Despite his lingering doubts, the sanctuary ritual did make him feel safer. Gabriel could show up, Gabriel could stop time, Gabriel could be _utterly furious_ with him.

But he couldn't touch him.

He awoke from a very pleasant nap, nightmares chased away by the warm glow of his little Aziraphale-light, to find his angel curled up on the sofa with a very heavy, very old book open across his lap, a cup of tea, still steaming, on the end table to his right. Crowley crawled onto the couch and cuddled up against his side, feeling a soft glow of affection when Aziraphale lifted his arm to wrap it around Crowley's shoulders, warm and reassuring, turning his face to kiss Crowley's cheek without lifting his eyes from the book.

Crowley glanced at the page that had Aziraphale so fascinated, and felt a little chill pass through him when he saw the article heading halfway down the first column - _Hellfire_. The words beneath it - all in Enochian, the language of the angels - went into detail about the effects of Hellfire on angels and archangels under various conditions, in various forms of contact.

It came complete with several rather disturbing illustrations.

Cold dread settled in the pit of Crowley's stomach. It was not lost on him that such a weapon was difficult to control - and just as dangerous for Aziraphale as it was for Gabriel. He lowered his head to press a tender kiss to Aziraphale's shoulder, then closed his eyes and rested his brow against the spot he'd just kissed. His voice was hushed, trembling a little.

"I don't want you to do this."

Aziraphale's hand rose from his shoulder to card slowly, soothingly through his hair. "I know you don't," he admitted softly. "But it's the only way to ensure your safety." He paused, pressing a tender kiss into Crowley's hair. "Only way we get to be together."

"Until they come and take you away, for the murder of an archangel," Crowley mumbled unhappily. "Until you fall."

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his words were carefully measured.

"We'd… still be together. If I fall."

Crowley lifted his head to stare at his angel in horror, his heart giving a painful lurch at the thought.

"I won't," Aziraphale reassured him quickly.

But he didn't sound as certain of it as he had before. And he didn't sound _upset_ about it, either. Almost as if he was _getting used_ to the idea of falling - a realization that Crowley found more than a little terrifying. Aziraphale continued with a little more confidence, clarifying.

"I believe I can avoid consequences of that magnitude…" Aziraphale paused to take a sip of his tea. "... if we can prove that Gabriel's death was justified. That it was - our only option."

Crowley considered that for a moment. "And how are we going to prove that?" he asked, doubtful. "I'm a demon, they're not going to take _my_ word."

"No," Aziraphale agreed with a sigh. His mouth was a tight, grim line as he turned the page, revealing another illustration, this one of a particularly wicked-looking blade. "But they'll take his."

Crowley blinked, confused. "He'd never confess." Of that he was certain. "Not to all of it. Not to - the stuff that would matter to Heaven."

_Manipulating time… threatening to murder another angel… forcing… _

Crowley shook his head, drew in a deep, settling breath, trying to still his churning stomach. He wasn't so sure Heaven would care about _any_ of the things Gabriel had done to him. Not for his sake, anyway.

… _Fucking a demon. _

Crowley was uncomfortably aware that two out of the three things he'd thought of, were things of which Aziraphale was also guilty.

"He _will_ confess." Aziraphale was calm, certain. "I will - obtain his confession. And then I'll kill him."

"How?" Crowley asked, frowning. "Hellfire? I'm not exactly in Hell's not-as-bad books, and neither of us can safely leave here, anyway. Hard to get."

"No, not Hellfire." Aziraphale tapped the picture on the page in front of him. "This." He gave Crowley a wry, sideways smile. "_Harder_ to get."

Crowley looked more closely at the picture, his eyes going wide as he slowly realized what he was seeing. He looked up at Aziraphale, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time - or at least, in a brand new light.

A slightly _terrifying _new light.

Crowley knew what that weapon was, one of a bare handful of things that could actually permanently kill an archangel.

A blade forged in Hellfire.

It was a nasty way to go, for an angel. Just one cut - even the slightest little cut, would do it. It didn't matter if it was the size and location of a papercut to the fingertip, or a slit throat - either one meant inescapable death. In this case, actually, a cut to the fingertip was _worse_; it meant a slow, agonizing death as the fire forged into the blade made its way through the angel's body. A slit throat would at least be quick. Looking into Aziraphale's eyes, filled with the same familiar warmth and love that was always there when he looked at Crowley - the demon knew with chilling certainty:

His angel did _not_ intend to slit Gabriel's throat.

"_Can_ you, though?" Crowley frowned. "The sanctuary…"

"Prevents harmful _miracles_," Aziraphale clarified with a little smile. "Bit of a celestial loophole, I suppose. It was created before humanity - before angels had human forms with teeth and feet and fists to strike. So… it prevents harm done by miraculous means. It does _not_ prevent violence that is simply physical."

Crowley took that in for a moment, swallowed slowly before nodding toward the picture. "But… this way?"

"Even _this_ death is a mercy, love." Aziraphale's voice was calm and quiet. "Compared to what he did to you."

"There's nothing _merciful_ about _that_." Crowley nodded toward the picture.

Aziraphale frowned down at the picture, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a slow, heavy sigh. Crowley knew him well enough to know - he was bothered that _Crowley_ was bothered. He couldn't possibly have cared any less about the suffering his chosen method would cause Gabriel. But he _did_ care how it affected Crowley. He looked up at him after a moment, his expression solemn and appraising.

"How would _you_ like to see him die?"

Crowley considered the question, lips parted to answer - but he didn't really know _what_ he wanted. The idea of vengeance of course carried a measure of satisfaction, but the thought of the potential consequences, for himself and for his angel, brought with it a fear that far outweighed it. Crowley would have been perfectly happy if Gabriel could simply _cease to exist_, and he never had to see him or think about him ever again.

No risk. No consequences for his angel.

Just... _gone_.

He took a breath, prepared to put his answer into words, though he knew he had nothing helpful to offer. His wishful thinking was not about to dissuade Aziraphale from his plan. Aziraphale watched him with interest, lifting his teacup to his lips to take another sip with one hand as he closed the book with the other.

But before Crowley could speak, the angel froze - cup halfway to his lips, book half-closed with his fingers still between the pages. The slight wisp of steam still rising from the cup had frozen in place as well, hovering just between the cup and Aziraphale's lips.

A cold, queasy feeling of terror came over Crowley.

Time had stopped.

Gabriel was on his way.


	27. Chapter 27

The Archangel Gabriel was having a _very_ bad day. Or rather, a series of bad days.

Things were _not _going according to plan.

It had been such a _good_ plan, too.

Give Crowley a safe place. Make him think Aziraphale could protect him, that _maybe_ everything was going to be okay - and then yank it all out from under him. Remind his little demon slave that his pathetic hopes were futile - that his master could get to him _anywhere_.

So far, so good.

Crowley was fucking _terrified_ every time Gabriel showed up at the bookshop - beautifully submissive, sinking to his knees at Gabriel's slightest unspoken command, presenting his wings and desperately trying to keeping still no matter how much it hurt, while Gabriel proved to him that he could still do whatever the fuck he wanted to him. He would tremble and weep and resist every trace of protective survival instinct he had ever possessed, in favor of obeying Gabriel's commands.

Except, of course... always and _fucking forever_… when it came to Aziraphale.

Crowley did as he was told - an almost perfectly trained little slave. But for _Aziraphale_, Crowley would still dare to raise his hand to Gabriel, to try to physically stop him before he'd let him harm that pathetic principality.

So Gabriel had come up with his next move.

Aziraphale was simply useless. Easily cowed, clueless about the reality of the situation - Gabriel had had little doubt that, when backed into a corner, Aziraphale would do as he was told. Aziraphale was unable to protect Crowley from Gabriel's continued, regular visits - and unable to disobey Gabriel when he gave the order for Aziraphale to hurt Crowley himself.

Aziraphale choosing to hurt Crowley's _wings_ \- well, that had been an unexpected… _complication_.

But not an unwelcome one.

Worst case scenario, Aziraphale would realize what Gabriel had been doing to Crowley behind his back, lose his temper and attack… and then Gabriel could beat the shit out of that pathetic little angel, and take him and Crowley both back to Heaven - Aziraphale to be tried for attacking him, and Crowley to return to his training - his _purpose_.

Best case - Aziraphale would not realize what he was seeing, would follow through with the punishment as ordered… and in so doing prove to Crowley once and for all that his trust and loyalty were misplaced. Crowley had suffered countless hours of misery, spilled buckets of blood and tears, to protect Aziraphale. To learn that Aziraphale would so easily hurt him on command would certainly be a crushing blow.

His illusions shattered, Crowley would turn on Aziraphale. Confess to Gabriel the truth about their relationship.

Aziraphale would be punished. Heaven would be happy.

Crowley would be _his_.

It was such a solid plan. It should have worked.

Instead, it had all fallen apart as he'd found himself standing there, listening to his treacherous little slave call pathetic, useless _Aziraphale_ fucking _master_.

He'd wanted to _kill_ Aziraphale. Right then and there. The bloodier the better, just fucking _rip him apart_ right in front of Crowley, and be done with it - and then drag Crowley back to Heaven, back to his cell, and spend a good, long amount of not-time reminding that little demon whore just exactly who his master _really was_. Since he seemed to have so quickly forgotten.

Which was exactly why Gabriel had had to leave Aziraphale's home so quickly, and stay away for a while, calm himself down - before he did anything stupid.

All Gabriel's incredibly effective, immensely satisfying "_I'll burn your angel boyfriend alive"_ threats aside - he knew very well that he couldn't kill Aziraphale. Not yet. Aziraphale's death would actually serve to ruin some carefully laid plans that had been in the works for quite some time now.

Heaven's plans.

_His_ plans.

Both agendas could still be fulfilled - but only if Crowley turned on Aziraphale.

_That's the only way this works…_

One thing Gabriel was sure of - his admittedly experimental tactic of temporarily returning Crowley to Aziraphale had failed. Crowley's time spent with Aziraphale was only bringing the two of them closer, not coming between them the way he had hoped. He needed to go get Crowley and bring him back… hopefully without _utterly fucking losing _it and killing Aziraphale in the process, however satisfying that thought might be.

Michael unexpectedly entered his office - without knocking.

_Rude. _

A cool smile on her face, she said, "Hello, Gabriel. Just here for an update on the current phase of the project."

"Oh, everything's fine, fine, coming along nicely," he lied. Once Crowley was safely back under his own personal lock and key in Heaven, he'd find a way to explain the change in plans to the project lead - but for now, what she didn't know couldn't hurt him. "It's taking a little longer than I'd anticipated, but it's going well."

"Is it really?" Abruptly Michael's tone went from calm and friendly to angry and suspicious, as she slapped a sheet of paper down in front of him on his desk. "Then would you care to explain _this_?"

Gabriel stared at the brief memo - addressed to all of the archangels - and read through it quickly, with rising alarm and fury.

Oh, _no. No way_ was he going to allow _this_ to happen.

"I'll take care of it," he said, rising to his feet and heading for the door, leaving the memo on his desk.

Michael turned toward him as he passed her.

"_How_?" she demanded with clear annoyance and frustration.

"_I'll handle it!"_ he snapped, slamming the door as he stormed out of his office.

Behind him, he heard the glass shatter. Without turning or breaking his pace, he snapped his fingers behind him, and heard the soft tinkling sound as the broken glass came back together and the door became whole again.

Gabriel was going to handle it, all right. He was going right down to that stupid bookshop to collect _his property_.

And his deceptive, disloyal little serpent was going to wish he was dead - for the rest of his very long life.

_He can't get in… he can't get in… he can't get in… _

Crowley's heart raced as he reminded himself over and over of what Aziraphale had promised him was true. The sanctuary ritual had placed a barrier around the bookshop and the flat. Gabriel could come to the door, could stop time, but he _couldn't get in_.

They had talked about this - planned for this moment.

_Just stay upstairs… wait it out… don't give him an inch of space to work with… _

_God, he must be so angry! Is he here yet, already trying to get in? Still on his way? Has he just now realized what we did? Oh, he's got to be bloody _furious…

Crowley felt like he couldn't breathe, panic closing in, suffocating and hot. He turned wide, fearful eyes toward Aziraphale - frozen with time, and utterly unaware of what was happening.

_He could just leave him frozen, endlessly… could keep us in here forever if he wanted… keep _me _here, alone and locked in and God, no, I can't, I _can't…

The bell over the bookshop door rang. Someone had opened the door.

Crowley's heart plummeted to his feet.

_He can't get in, he can't, he can't…_

His panic consuming him, Crowley knew only one thing - that he had to _know_. He couldn't just stay up here, indefinitely waiting for Gabriel to come up those stairs, not knowing if he was waiting for him in the shop, not knowing whether or not he'd somehow made it inside. His footsteps heavy with dread, Crowley made his way downstairs and a little ways into the shop, far enough to see the front door.

It was open. Gabriel was standing just outside it, on the sidewalk amongst the frozen passersby, a street filled with motionless vehicles just beyond him. He smiled when he saw Crowley.

"There you are."

His voice was soft, desirous, and Crowley shivered. He could almost _feel_ the phantom touch of Gabriel's hands, sliding over his body… roughly forcing him into whatever position he wanted him… pressing him down into the bed or against the wall…

"We need to have a very serious conversation about your recent behavior."

Crowley glanced up at the archangel's face. His smile had faded, his violet eyes dark with malice. Crowley couldn't maintain eye contact, dropping his gaze to somewhere around Gabriel's knees as he backed away a little.

"We've claimed sanctuary," he informed Gabriel, who gave a slow, exaggerated nod, as if that was the most stupid, obvious observation Crowley could possibly have made. Clearly, Gabriel already knew. "You can't enter." Crowley steadied himself, summoning all of his courage to add, "You - you should just go."

Gabriel shifted on his feet outside the door, his fist clenching at his side, though his voice remained deadly soft.

"So... _you're _telling _me_ what to do now. Is that how it is?"

"No, no…" Crowley hurried to deny it, icy fear clutching at his heart as he backed a little further away, a little further, until he felt his foot hit the bottom stair. "That's - that's not…" He spun around and took the first step.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away from me."

Gabriel's voice was sharp and vicious, and it stopped him in his tracks - then softened, taking on a quietly reasonable, almost coaxing tone.

"You said it yourself. I can't get in. Come back here and talk to me."

Crowley closed his eyes, swallowed slowly, his knuckles white around the banister, one foot on the floor and the other on the bottom step.

Gabriel's voice held a warning edge when he repeated, "_Come back here_."

His mouth dry, heart pounding in his chest, Crowley turned and obeyed, stopping a good, safe distance away from the doorway.

Gabriel was quiet for a moment before asking, curious and speculative, "You think this will last forever?"

"The sanctuary lasts as long as we feel there's a threat," Crowley said. "It _is_ forever, if we need it to be…"

"No, not that." Gabriel's tone was dismissive, mildly derisive. "_This_." He waved his hand in a vaguely circular motion that indicated Crowley, the shop, the upstairs apartment, Aziraphale… "He knows now, doesn't he?"

Crowley didn't speak. He couldn't find the nerve… and Gabriel already knew the answer anyway.

Gabriel glanced toward the stairs with a look of mild surprise. "_Everything_?"

"Yes," Crowley whispered, eyes downcast. Suddenly, Gabriel's surprised amusement at the idea that he might have _dared_ to confide in his angel ignited a spark of anger inside him. The words Gabriel had repeatedly told him, over and over, until his shattered heart and mind had almost believed them - _he'll never forgive you, he doesn't want you, only _I _want you_ \- echoed in his mind.

"You lied to me." The words were out before Crowley knew he was going to speak at all. "He never betrayed me. Never would have. Loves me even now, so there's _no way_ he would have given me to you. _Never_."

Gabriel blinked, taken aback a little. His mouth twisted up into a slow, cruel smile. "Even… after what you did?"

"What… what _you_ did," Crowley corrected him, though he stumbled a little over the words Aziraphale kept telling him. "I - I didn't - it wasn't my - my choice…" It was difficult to make them come out right, when he wasn't quite sure he believed them himself, yet.

"That's what he told you, right?" Gabriel correctly surmised, his smile nasty, malicious. "Like he memorized it. Straight out of the 'perfect angel boyfriend' handbook. Bet he was all righteous, protective wrath… ready to march into Heaven and take me out."

"Yeah, actually." Crowley looked up at him then, defiant even through his fear and uncertainty. "Yeah, he was."

Gabriel laughed. "_That_ I would pay to see," he declared. "I don't imagine all that anger and hate is a flattering color on Aziraphale." His smile faded, but the cruel amusement remained in his eyes as he held Crowley's gaze. "Wonder how long before he realizes… it's not _all_ aimed at _me_."

"_Stop it_."

Crowley dropped his gaze, feeling the edges of his suffocating panic creeping back in again - and suddenly he realized that his back was to the wall next to the stairs. When did that happen? He didn't recall moving. All he knew was that he wanted to escape the vicious onslaught of Gabriel's precision-aimed attack.

"He knows what he's _supposed_ to say. To feel. But deep down - he knows _better._ You're _never_ supposed to blame the victim, right?" Crowley flinched a little at that word, shaking his head, trying to shut it out. "Even if they _did _deserve it."

_Your existence is supposed to be hell, you're a demon!_

"Even if they _did_ bring it on themselves."

_You just had to fuck up again, didn't you? We're gonna keep doing this until you learn to behave…_

Gabriel leaned in as close as he could to the invisible barrier, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, cruelly intimate, his mouth twisted into a regretful, sympathetic grimace.

"Does he know you _begged_ for it?"

"Stop," Crowley repeated, tears welling in his eyes, as he slid down the wall at his back, his knees drawn up in front of him. "Just - just _leave_. You can't get in. Just go." He buried his head in his folded arms, gasping for breath, fighting for control of the emotions, the memories that overwhelmed him.

"No, I don't think I will." Gabriel smirked. "I have _literally_ all the time in the world, sweetheart. Guaranteed I can wait you out." He paused, his words taking on an enticing note, "Or… you could just… invite me in. I promise I won't even go upstairs. You and I, go back to Heaven. I'll leave Aziraphale out of it."

Crowley didn't lift his head, didn't respond. He knew it was a lie.

"Or, if you don't trust me," Gabriel continued, "you could always just step outside."

What truly terrified Crowley was that there was a tiny little part of him, deep down, that wanted to do it. If allowed in, Gabriel would most certainly hurt or kill Aziraphale, while he was helpless and unable to defend himself. But - if Crowley _went outside_, then… Aziraphale would be safe.

From Gabriel - and from Crowley's own demonic influence.

_You knew it all those years ago, should have just stayed away… it's not happening exactly like you imagined it, but it's happening. He's about to defy Heaven. He's about to Fall._

_And it's because of you. _

But, despite his guilty fears, although it was nearly impossible for him to comprehend _why_, Crowley knew without a trace of doubt in his heart - Aziraphale _loved him_. Dearly and desperately. He knew better than to think that allowing Gabriel to take him would in any way quell Aziraphale's need to protect him. Aziraphale would still storm Heaven to find him, to save him - and probably get killed or Fall in the process.

"_Please don't leave again… not of your own choice…"_

Crowley had _promised_.

He shook his head slowly, without lifting it.

He flinched when Gabriel slammed his fist against the invisible barrier in an abrupt fit of frustration, a loud crack like thunder echoing through the air at the unseen impact.

"_Invite me in_!" the archangel roared.

Crowley looked up, but not quite at Gabriel. "I _can't_," he said at last. He hesitated, then continued, "Aziraphale's house. Aziraphale's sanctuary." Finally, he lifted his gaze to the archangel's eyes, clarifying just in case Gabriel didn't understand yet. "_Aziraphale_ is the only one who can invite you in. So - as long as he's sitting up there frozen in time - you won't be getting what you want."

Gabriel turned away from the door for a moment with a frustrated little growl before turning back to glare at Crowley again, snapping his fingers in the air. Crowley flinched a little in spite of himself, in spite of his knowledge that, if the barrier was effective enough to keep Gabriel out, it would certainly also be effective enough to prevent him from using a miracle to hurt them.

Outside the shop, the people resumed walking, the cars in the street began to move again.

"Call him down here," Gabriel commanded.

Crowley shook his head, looking down at his folded arms. He wouldn't.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's worried voice could be heard, muffled from upstairs.

A moment later, Crowley heard his hurried footsteps, headed toward the stairs.

Gabriel grinned. "That didn't take long. He's getting quicker."

Aziraphale was down the stairs in moments, looking between the archangel at the open door, and Crowley, huddled on the floor next to the stairs. Immediately he went to Crowley - strong, gentle hands taking hold of his arms on either side and helping him to rise. He turned cold, furious eyes on Gabriel.

"You are not welcome here."

Gabriel scoffed. "This is ridiculous, Aziraphale. You should just let me in. We'll talk through it…"

"There is nothing to talk through," Aziraphale insisted, cold and certain. "There is nothing for you here."

Aziraphale pulled Crowley in close to his side, protective, and Crowley gratefully wrapped an arm around his angel's waist, leaning into him with a tremendous sense of relief. With Aziraphale's arm around him, he found the courage to look at Gabriel again - and immediately wished he hadn't. Gabriel's eyes were blazing with jealous rage, his malicious intent clear even before he spoke.

"I'll kill him in front of you," Gabriel addressed Aziraphale, without taking his eyes off Crowley. "With holy water." Finally he met Aziraphale's gaze with a smile. "_Slowly_."

Aziraphale's arm around him tightened, and Crowley felt the little hitch in his breath, felt the rush of fear that momentarily washed over his angel - abruptly followed up with protective fury. But Aziraphale didn't say anything in response to the threat - just turned Crowley toward the stairs, prepared to lead him away from it.

Suddenly, Crowley stopped, resisting Aziraphale's leading embrace, and turning to face the archangel again. He had to blink away tears to see him clearly. His breath was a little ragged, a little rushed… but he was _onto him_, now. He saw through Gabriel's tactics, because he'd seen them before.

"So… _which _of us are you going to murder in front of the other, _exactly_?" he asked, a spark of anger in his slightly trembling voice. "Because you can hardly do both."

Aziraphale frowned, looking between them in confusion, and Crowley knew he'd have to explain a bit later. For now, he was focused on Gabriel's answer.

The archangel's seething anger was obvious. He stepped as close as the barrier would allow him to the door, smiling as he made a show of considering for a moment before meeting Crowley's eyes.

"Him," he stated, decisive, and Crowley's stomach rolled dangerously. "Definitely him." He smiled in sadistic anticipation. "Because I am _not even close_ to done with you, sweetheart."

Crowley shuddered, practically wilting, his rush of anger-driven courage fading as swiftly as it had arisen. Aziraphale's strong hands gently pushed Crowley behind him, as he took a slow, deliberate step toward the archangel. His voice was cool and certain, a quiet challenge.

"You'll never touch him again."

"Oh, because he's yours now?" Gabriel gave Crowley a meaningful look, and Crowley felt a hot rush of shame wash over him at the reminder. "I don't think so," Gabriel sneered, directing his words toward Crowley. "Does he know about _that_, little…?"

"Because I'm going to _end you_." Aziraphale's words cut him off sharply, and Gabriel blinked, staring at him in surprise. "Precisely because I _do_ know about… _that_." Aziraphale spat the words out at Gabriel. He took his arms from around Crowley, long enough to go to the door.

"There is nothing for you here," he repeated with an icy, threatening smile. "Nothing that I'd expect you're in any hurry to receive, anyway."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, contemptuous, lips parted to speak - but Aziraphale simply closed the door in his face, locking it firmly, before placing a solid, gentle arm around Crowley and leading him back upstairs.

Aziraphale didn't say a word to Crowley about not following through with their plan, about going downstairs and giving Gabriel access to him - however limited that access might have been. For all their careful decisions of how to handle it when Gabriel inevitably showed up… Aziraphale had _seen_ inside the wreckage the archangel had left of Crowley's sense of free will. He'd seen Gabriel through _Crowley's_ eyes, as he saw him - as a malevolent and nearly omnipotent force, whose violent, vindictive fury was to be avoided at any cost.

Just the very idea of Gabriel's rage at being ignored would have certainly been enough to drive Crowley down the stairs and to the door - and Aziraphale could never blame Crowley for that.

Aziraphale's mind went back to the image he'd been studying, the weapon that would slay the archangel.

Because, it _would_. He'd decided, now.

Gabriel would receive no quarter in this place - not even that of a swift death.

But that was a matter for another time. For now, Aziraphale focused his attention on Crowley. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, the demon's legs were quaking dangerously, most of his weight supported by Aziraphale, his face turned and pressed into the angel's shoulder as he drew in deep, sobbing breaths.

Aziraphale soothed him with soft, comforting sounds, holding him close as he led him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa. He miracled Crowley's favorite blanket from the bedroom and wrapped it around him, miracled up a cup of sweet, steaming tea, and then pulled Crowley into his arms.

"You're safe," he whispered, kissing his sweat-damp brow, feeling the demon shiver against his chest. "You see, my darling? He couldn't get in."

"He almost did." Crowley's hushed words sounded haunted, terrified at his own weakness more than at Gabriel's rage. He raised wide, horrified eyes to meet Aziraphale's gaze as he confessed, "I almost _let _him."

Aziraphale offered Crowley a warm smile as he smoothed his hair back from his face, trying to suppress how very deeply Crowley's words scared him, too.

"But you didn't," he pointed out, encouraging.

Crowley stared down at Aziraphale's chest, caught in the fear of the moment, his words rushed and panicked. "I - I didn't want to, but - this little part, it - it was like it was saying I _had_ to, and…"

"And you told that little part of you to _kindly shut up_, and you _didn't invite him in_." Aziraphale was firm, insisting that Crowley recognize his own strength. "And he gave up, didn't he? He started time again…"

"I - I told him only you could invite him in. Your sanctuary."

Aziraphale's smile broadened, as he felt a rush of affection and admiration for Crowley. On some level he felt that perhaps he shouldn't be feeling such a swell of pride at his demon's ability to fight through his own fears enough to form a convincing _lie_.

On _all_ levels, he felt that he no longer gave a _damn_ what he _shouldn't_ be feeling.

"Yes, see?" he said softly. "There's a brave, clever boy." Aziraphale kissed Crowley softly before settling him down against his chest again, soothing hands running through his hair and down his back. "You kept your wits about you. You didn't let him get in your head."

Crowley sighed deeply, shakily, his hands resting at Aziraphale's waist. He turned his face to the side so that he could speak and be heard clearly, and his words - hushed and broken, and spoken like a confession of some guilt or failing - made Aziraphale's chest ache.

"Angel, he - he's already there."

Aziraphale wanted to cry. But… it wasn't exactly a surprise. He was silent for a few moments, petting Crowley's hair and holding him close as he regained his own composure.

"I know," he admitted at last, when his voice was steady and soothing again. "I know it's so hard, love. I know it's frightening. But - please just trust me. I will _stop him_. I will _end him_."

Crowley raised his head to look up at Aziraphale, and the trusting, open expression in his eyes nearly took the angel's breath. Crowley nodded slowly, accepting Aziraphale's promise, and Aziraphale gave him a warm, reassuring smile, stroking the side of his face, fingers brushing against his temple in a tender caress as he made his demon another promise.

"And then… we'll find a way to uninvite him from _here_, too."


	28. Chapter 28

"_We're going to try something new this time…"_

_Crowley couldn't imagine any set of words that could have possibly been more terrifying coming from the archangel's lips._

_They were standing just inside the doorway of a large, empty room. Cold tile floor beneath his bare feet, just a little light from a couple of wall lamps on either end of the room, no furniture of any kind. The only item of any significance in the room - and of great, overwhelming, terrifying significance - was a pair of long chains, each with a thick, sturdy metal clip on its end. They extended toward either side of the room, each connected to a winch mounted to the wall, well above the level of Crowley's head. _

_Gabriel gave Crowley a firm push between his shoulders, toward the center of the room - toward the chains. _

"_Put them on," he ordered. _

_Crowley turned to glance at him, uncertain. _

"_On your wings," Gabriel clarified, impatient. "Through there…" He indicated the smaller ring in the second joint of Crowley's wing. "... and then attach it to there." The larger ring, in the first joint. _

_Crowley stared down at the chains for a long moment, well aware that every second that ticked by without his obedience brought him that much closer to the archangel's wrath. He swallowed thickly against the sandpaper feeling in the back of his throat, before crouching down to pick up the end of one of the chains. _

_The cool metal seared his skin, and he dropped it abruptly with a startled hiss of pain, his heart rate accelerating with alarm._

_The chains were blessed. _

_He turned plaintive eyes toward his master, lips parted - to plead, or protest, or _something_, because surely Gabriel didn't _really _expect him to…_

_But _of course _he did. _

_Whatever desperate words he might have spoken died in his throat at the expression on Gabriel's face - coolly expectant, impassive. _

"_I know it hurts," Gabriel assured him, his voice quiet and not without sympathy. "I told you it would, sometimes, didn't I?" His eyes were hard as he ordered again, "Put them on." _

_Crowley steeled himself against the pain, and forced himself to pick up the chain again, though the searing heat of it was nearly unbearable against the sensitive skin of his fingers. He somehow managed to thread the chain through the smaller ring, and then attach the clip to the larger ring... on first one wing, and then the other. His cruel task completed, he stood there, trembling, miserably waiting as Gabriel approached him. Already, the blessed iron was burning where it ran along the upper ridges of Crowley's wings. _

_The archangel inspected Crowley's work, running his hand along the length of the chains, deliberately catching them and dragging them into closer contact with Crowley's wings as he moved. Crowley shuddered with pain, but managed not to pull away. Even the slightest resistance would only infuriate his master, and bring further suffering. Gabriel tugged hard on the chains as he moved around to face Crowley again, smiling and nodding in satisfaction when he found them to be secure. _

_Gabriel stopped directly in front of him, standing very close… just watching him. Crowley's heart raced. Gabriel's very nearness was overwhelming, intimidating. All at once Crowley was certain that he shouldn't be standing. What right did he have, in the archangel's presence? He tried to sink to his knees, but Gabriel caught his arms and stopped him, holding him on his feet, before reaching one hand back to toy with the chain, observing Crowley's distress with a cool smile as he did. _

_Crowley knew he should just be quiet, but his panic was nearly overwhelming. He couldn't keep his silence, desperate, trembling words spilling from his lips. "Please, I - have I done something wrong, master? I'm sorry, I'm sorry if I've displeased you, please…" _

"_No, no," Gabriel said softly, releasing his arm to run a gentle hand through his hair, then down the side of his face - a stark contrast to the sharp pain his other hand caused as it twisted in the chain. "You're pleasing me very much. Right now." _

_Crowley's heart sank with despairing realization. This wasn't a punishment. Gabriel wasn't displeased with him. There could be no appeasing him, if he wasn't even angry._

_He just wanted to _hurt _him. Period. _

_Gabriel took a step back at last, his hands leaving Crowley's body, and Crowley felt an irrational sense of relief. He knew better, didn't he? Than to think that the archangel would be satisfied with simply chaining his wings and watching him burn for a while. He kept his eyes carefully downcast, his breath caught in his throat as he waited, while Gabriel circled him slowly, looking him over appraisingly. _

_From behind him, Crowley heard the archangel snap his fingers… and the winches on the walls began to wind themselves, pulling the chains tighter, until they were not quite taut, but stretching Crowley's wings out to either side, far enough that he couldn't have knelt anymore if he'd tried. Gabriel tilted his head with a critical frown as he came back around into Crowley's view, before snapping his fingers again. The chains moved a second time, pulling tighter until they were completely taut. _

_Crowley's heart raced with panic. He was completely pinned in place, his wings helplessly spread out on display, hanging on the blessed chains. _

"_Please," he gasped out, his eyes locked onto Gabriel's fingers - poised to snap again. "Please, master… please don't…"_

_Gabriel closed in on him swiftly, silencing him by grabbing his jaw and jerking his head up sharply. "Be quiet," he snapped, his voice low and menacing. "And be good. You know this could always get worse, if you piss me off. And we both know you're so good at that."_

_Crowley shook his head rapidly to indicate that he wouldn't, and didn't dare speak again. Gabriel released him with a rough shove that caused the chains to shift against the upper ridges of his wings. Crowley bit back a choked cry of pain, turning his face toward his shoulder and closing his eyes as Gabriel circled him again at a slow, predatory pace. _

_He stopped at Crowley's back, his hand tugging experimentally at one of the chains._

"_Why do you even have them?" he mused, running his fingers slowly down through the feathers of Crowley's right wing in a way that made him shiver with dread and revulsion. "Other demons don't. You all lost them in the Fall, which means… this is a _choice_. Something you _decided _to have, when you chose your form…" _

_Crowley lowered his head, inexplicably ashamed, even before Gabriel's low, taunting laugh, his dark whisper in his ear. "Silly little serpent. Snakes don't have wings. Why do you?" _

_Crowley didn't realize he expected an answer, until he abruptly snapped his fingers again, and the chains pulled tighter, straining his wings painfully. _

"_I-I don't know!" he stammered out, desperate. "I don't know…"_

"_Sure you do," Gabriel persisted, his voice soft and coaxing. "There must have been a reason." _

_Crowley was still trying to catch his breath, trying to adjust to the painful tension in his already badly damaged limbs. He didn't want to think about those early days after his Fall - when the charred remnants of his original, snow white wings had fallen away, too. Didn't want to think about the soul-deep ache of grief and loss he'd felt at their absence. _

_He swallowed back the sob in the back of his throat, and said nothing. _

_Gabriel snapped his fingers again, and the chains drew in another foot against the wall on either side. _

_Crowley yelped at the sharp, searing pain, instinctively reaching up a hand toward his wing - forcing himself to withdraw it before he touched it. Gabriel wanted to hurt him. Attempting to do anything to ease the pain he was inflicting would only inspire him to try harder. _

"_I-I missed them," he confessed, his face flushed with shame, the hot pinprick of tears in his eyes. "W-wanted them back." _

_Gabriel's moved back around to face him with a laugh that was harsh and cruel. "Pretty sure that ship has sailed, sweetheart. You do realize you can't un-Fall, right?" he softly taunted. "Can't be saved. Not ever. You're irredeemable. Worthless. _God says _you are." He pointed a finger up toward the ceiling to emphasize his point, and Crowley flinched. "So why bother with this… cheap imitation?" _

_Crowley just shook his head, the tears slipping down his face. He didn't know, anymore, why he'd bothered giving himself the raven-black wings that had once seemed so striking, so beautiful, to his own eyes. Another sin, pride or envy - a ridiculous notion, it seemed now, that he could in any way hold onto some slight piece of what he'd lost when he'd Fallen. _

_Now, he wished them gone. Wished it more when Gabriel snapped his fingers again, and the chains grew even shorter, the tension in his wings unbearable. He couldn't help it, he reached up to try to ease the stretch a bit, to try to gain some relief. Gabriel roughly grabbed his wrists and jerked them up in front of him - in the process yanking him forward and pulling painfully against the chains. _

_Crowley stifled a cry of agony as Gabriel leaned in close to his ear, his voice low and warning. _

"Don't. Touch_." _

"_I'm s-s-sorry, I'm trying, please…." Crowley whispered, desperate tears streaking his face. _

_Gabriel's voice softened a little… a trace of sympathy, a genuine question. _

"_Would it help you if I restrained your hands?" _

_Crowley hesitated. He didn't exactly _want _to be any further restrained than he already was. But regardless of any restraints, he knew better than to think he could do anything to change what was happening to him - except if he managed to piss Gabriel off further, to annoy him with his continued disobedience. _

_At least having his hands bound would serve to prevent _that_. _

_He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and nodded. "Yes, please, master." _

_He didn't flinch when Gabriel touched his face, almost tenderly, approval evident in his quiet words. "Good boy." _

_Another snap of his fingers, and Crowley did flinch a little, expecting the chains to contract once more - but instead, a smaller set of chains appeared to bind his wrists, his arms crossed over his torso, the chains fastened behind him. He was relieved and grateful to note that the new_ _chains were not blessed, just simple cool iron against his skin. _

"_Th-thank you, master," Crowley murmured, his breath ragged with mingled pain and relief. _

_Gabriel's tone was soft, apparently genuine. "You're welcome, sweetheart." _

_Then he snapped his fingers again. _

_He hungrily watched Crowley's face as it twisted in agony, his back arching helplessly against the pain as the chains stretched his wings yet further, to what Crowley was sure had to be their absolute limit. The pain was excruciating, and Crowley choked back a scream, struggling to keep still, struggling to keep quiet, to obey. _

_Gabriel's cryptic, chilling words echoed in his mind. _

"They're for when you can't help it…"

"_Well, that just won't do," Gabriel declared with clear dissatisfaction. "Those chains are barely even touching your wings anymore."_

_Crowley would have disagreed, if he'd dared to speak. He could still feel the searing burn of the chains where they ran along the upper edges of his wings, a pain that competed for his attention with the increasingly agonizing stretch as the weight of his body dragged against them._

_It wasn't enough for Gabriel._

_He snapped his fingers yet again, and thin, fine chains suddenly wrapped themselves around Crowley's wings in various places, connected at both ends to the clamps in the rings. Immediately Crowley knew that they _were _blessed, as a sensation like fire licked at his wings everywhere they touched him. A strangled, anguished cry escaped his lips, as he struggled desperately to escape the contact... but it was impossible. _

_Gabriel smiled, satisfied. "That's better." _

_He moved close again, walking slowly around Crowley, his fingers tracing the chains… closing into a fist around the fine strands and drawing them into closer contact with Crowley's wings. He snapped his fingers again, and the chains contracted again, stretching the demon's wings impossibly further. Crowley didn't know exactly when he'd started openly weeping, but great, wrenching sobs tore their way out of his throat. It was excruciating, unbearable agony. Gabriel's whisper in his ear from behind him cut through his suffering like a razor, and Crowley's heart seemed to stop for a moment. _

"_Maybe I should just _take _them." _

_Crowley's shivers turned into full-body tremors of cold and shock, terror and agony - aggravating the burn of the blessed chains, the pull against his overly taxed muscles and tendons. _

"_Yeah," Gabriel continued, picking up steam as he considered his horrifying idea. "Keep pulling until I just pull them right off. That could work." He ran a hand through Crowley's wing, grasping fingers clenching around a handful of feathers and pulling, just a little, not quite enough to pull them out, but enough to draw a pleading, wordless whimper from Crowley's lips. _

"_You shouldn't have them anyway," Gabriel argued. He considered a moment before pointing out, darkly enticing, "They wouldn't _hurt _anymore, then, would they? Maybe you'd even _die _if they came off… like a butterfly." He leaned in close, his fingers easing their grip in Crowley's wing but continuing to tease, to caress, as he whispered against his ear, "I think maybe you'd like that. Would you like that, little serpent?" _

_Crowley was beginning to think that maybe he'd like that, too. He couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be a threat, or a temptation. _

_Somehow, it felt like both. _

_He didn't know what he wanted or how to answer. At this point, he wasn't sure that losing his wings could be any worse than the brutal agony that was being inflicted upon them now. _

_He _was _sure that death would be a relief._

_But the idea of Gabriel taking his wings - using the vicious, biting chains to simply wrench them from his body - was utterly horrifying. He didn't know what he wanted. But even if he did, if he _told Gabriel _what he wanted, wouldn't he just do the opposite, anyway? It was too hopelessly confusing to even process amidst his suffering. He could barely breathe, let alone focus enough to figure it out. His mind surrendered to the only simple fact he still knew, the only thing he could cling to. _

_Breathless, he choked out, "Y-you can do what you will with me, master." _

_Crowley heard the slight catch in Gabriel's breath behind him - the way his greedy hands clutched a little tighter at Crowley's wings - the slight pressure through the archangel's suit paints that betrayed his arousal. _

_Yes… Gabriel most certainly was pleased with _that _response. _

"_Yes, I can," he breathed out against Crowley's throat, lustful, satisfied, grabbing a handful of Crowley's hair and pulling his head back against his shoulder to mouth at his throat with lips and tongue and teeth, his free hand tangled in Crowley's wing once more, pulling at it viciously. The desperate, pained little cries Crowley couldn't quite suppress only seemed to increase his hunger._

_He drew back after a moment, his breath harsh and heavy. "No," he sighed. "No, I don't think I will take them. God help me, maybe it's weakness, maybe it's sin… but I _like _them. How you look… like _this…"

_Crowley trembled under the archangel's roving hands, sliding through his feathers and across his skin. He desperately wanted to hide his wings, not only from the pain, but from the overwhelming sense of shame as well. He felt disgusting, dirty, as if Gabriel's familiar fingers were leaving trails of filth in their wake, indelibly staining his wings forever. _

_Gabriel snapped his fingers once more, and Crowley stopped breathing for a moment with sheer terror. He knew his wings couldn't take anymore, he knew he'd be pulled apart if Gabriel tightened the chains any further. But the chains didn't move, and a moment later, he felt bare skin against his own, in place of the silken slide of Gabriel's suit. He sobbed softly in anguish, knowing what was coming next - not knowing how he was going to be able to bear it, in this position, in this much pain. _

"_Shh, easy…" _

_Gabriel soothed him, running his hands over Crowley's torso, stroking gently over his bound hands at his sides, before returning his attention to Crowley's wings - bracing himself by grasping them as he forced his way into Crowley's body and began to move, seemingly spurred on by Crowley's agonized sobs. _

_At least, at this rate, it'd be over quickly._

"_Almost done," Gabriel gasped, biting at Crowley's shoulder. "You've been… so good for me, sweetheart… but I think you can take… just a little bit more…" _

_And the chains yanked at Crowley's wings one more time when Gabriel snapped his fingers again. _

"So… how exactly are we going to go about getting this Hellfire-forged blade?"

Aziraphale winced a little. He was sure that Crowley wasn't going to like the answer to that question.

He was right.

"_Seriously_?" Crowley complained. "What good is a supernaturally secure sanctuary, if you're going to just turn right around and start inviting demons into it?"

"He'll be in a trap," Aziraphale pointed out. "And even if he wasn't, he wouldn't be able to hurt us, not as long as the sanctuary is in place."

Crowley let out a heavy, put upon sigh, the slightest trace of a whine in his voice. "Does it _have _to be _Hastur_?"

"He is a duke," Aziraphale reminded him, "which means he has some authority to actually make a deal." He paused, giving Crowley a little smirk. "Also he's the only demon I know for certain is quite scared of me."

He received just the barest inkling of a grudging smile from Crowley at that, though the demon's worry swiftly overwhelmed it. "I don't like it," he repeated for about the fifth time since hearing Aziraphale's plan. "No one should have that kind of power - not over anyone. I - I don't want them to have it."

Aziraphale understood.

He also felt there was little other choice.

He tried again to make Crowley understand. "Heaven _already_ has it. It's already… in existence. All this does is - even the playing field a bit."

It was clear that Crowley still didn't like the idea much, but he didn't argue about it any further. Aziraphale realized wistfully that he missed the days when Crowley would argue back endlessly about the smallest, most insignificant points - when his biting, sarcastic wit… his cleverly thought out arguments… would both infuriate and fascinate Aziraphale in equal measure. He almost wished that Crowley would argue with him now - and he couldn't help but worry about why he wasn't. He made himself put it out of his mind, for the moment.

They could deal with that later.

Once Gabriel was dead.

Hastur was most unhappy to find himself in the center of a summoning circle, and to Aziraphale's satisfaction and relief, still clearly quite frightened of Aziraphale. He took one look at the circle at his feet, and then at the bottle of holy water on the floor next to it, and immediately began to protest, outrage bordering on panic in his voice.

"I've stayed away like you asked! This isn't fair!"

"I've no intention of harming you," Aziraphale assured him. "I've called you here because I wish to make a deal."

Grudgingly calmed by Aziraphale's words, Hastur listened as Aziraphale outlined his conditions.

In exchange for Hastur's providing him with a Hellfire-forged blade, Aziraphale promised to use said blade to kill the Archangel Gabriel - and, once the collar was removed from Crowley's neck, to hand it over to Hastur.

"Best case scenario," Aziraphale pointed out, "you get credit for the death of an archangel, and a very important piece of Heavenly technology which could be quite damaging to your side. Worst case," he concluded with a wry smile, "I'm dead, and you no longer have to worry about me."

Hastur's beetle-black eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Deal sounds a bit _too_ good to be trusted."

Aziraphale conceded with a slight nod. "There is _one_ more thing I will require," he admitted. He carefully did not look at Crowley, though he was acutely aware of his sharply questioning gaze. They had not discussed this bit of the deal beforehand. "I understand your side has been looking for Crowley lately."

Hastur shrugged. "Guy disappears for a month or two, his superiors get curious as to where he's been."

"Ah, but you've been looking for him for a bit longer than that." Aziraphale met his gaze sharply.

"Look, I just do my job," Hastur insisted, beginning to sound anxious again, holding up both hands in front of him in an appeasing gesture.

"So you're the one who's been in charge of the investigation, I take it?" Aziraphale had figured as much, after Hastur's "random" appearance at Crowley's flat, the day after he'd returned to Earth.

"Yeah," Hastur admitted with some hesitation, repeating emphatically, "_Just my job_."

"Well, clearly you can consider your investigation closed at this point," Aziraphale informed him, his tone pointed and warning. "You have your explanation. He's been a prisoner of Heaven for some time now - a circumstance which is most certainly _not_ his fault. He's done nothing to betray your side or shirk his infernal duties. In fact, wily serpent that he is, he's actually been working undercover all this time."

Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale caught a slight flinch from Crowley, and suppressed a frown.

It was something else to worry about _after_ the deal was struck.

"It's only due to his _sacrifice_ of his freedom that Hell is going to be victorious in this case," he continued. "I'd certainly consider a dead archangel and an acquired piece of clandestine technology a win… wouldn't you?"

Hastur considered for a moment, before responding with a slow, cautious nod.

"Your report to your superiors will reflect all of this, and will recommend that the investigation into Crowley's activities be closed. And that he be allowed some time to - _recover_, and adjust following his extended captivity. A couple of centuries should do it."

It wasn't as if Hell had never ignored Crowley's absence for a century or so _before_.

Hastur let out a reluctant sigh, but his eyes darted toward the holy water on the floor for a moment, and Aziraphale suppressed a smile. They both knew who had the upper hand, here.

"I think I can make that happen," Hastur agreed at last.

"See that you do. As you can see, I can quite easily find you if I need to," Aziraphale reminded him in a tone that was mild, if not quite friendly.

The deal struck, Aziraphale broke the edge of the summoning circle to allow Hastur to leave. As Hastur stepped out of the circle, he looked between Aziraphale and Crowley for a moment, his gaze lingering on the collar with a bit more interest than Aziraphale liked. Silently, he reached down and picked up the bottle of holy water, stepping between the demon and _his_ demon, directly into Hastur's eyeline.

When Hastur's gaze darted up to his, Aziraphale met it with a cool smile, his voice deadly soft.

"If you even so much as look as if you'd _like_ to touch him…"

Hastur had vanished before he could finish his threat.

Aziraphale turned his attention to Crowley, who was watching him with a frown - still concerned, but grudgingly impressed.

"Well… that could have gone worse."

"Yes, I dare say." Aziraphale couldn't suppress his own grin, quite pleased with himself.

Crowley was quiet for a moment. "What will they do with it?" he asked at last. "Once they have it. Who else will get hurt?"

"Who else will get hurt if they _don't_ have access to it, and Heaven does?" Aziraphale countered gently. "This way they can - analyze it. Understand it. Perhaps devise a means of - of undoing it. It's terribly cruel in _anyone's_ hands, love. We've seen for ourselves what _Heaven_ has chosen to do with it." He paused a moment, hesitating before meeting Crowley's eyes and pointing out, "You don't suppose the one you're wearing is the _only_ one, do you?"

Crowley blinked, a little startled. He clearly hadn't considered that possibility.

"They're demons," he pointed out anyway, subdued but stubborn. "They'll hurt each other, or they'll devise a way to use it against angels, or - I don't know, maybe even humans."

"They already have Hell." Aziraphale smiled sadly. "Why would they need yet another new way to hurt humans?"

"You can't trust them," Crowley insisted, leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. "They're - evil by nature. Low and vile and treacherous." His gaze was averted as he spoke, and the vicious note of disgust in his voice made Aziraphale's heart sink as he abruptly realized what this was, and where it was coming from. "They're liars. Killers. _Evil_. They don't _deserve_…"

"_They are_… as angels, and humans, and every other creature…" Aziraphale cut him off firmly, moving to stand with him in the doorway, his hands gently resting against Crowley's arms. "... exactly what they _choose_ to be."

Crowley didn't move away, didn't resist Aziraphale's touch, but he drew his head back a little, giving his angel an appraising look. His voice was quiet, a bit ominous.

"What are _you _choosing to be, angel?"

"_Yours_." Aziraphale held Crowley's gaze intently, earnestly, and watched as the single word eased his demon's stance, the tight, unhappy line of his mouth softening with his eyes. "On your side. Behind you, beside you, _with you. Always_. No matter the cost." He ran his hands gently up and down Crowley's arms, relieved to feel the tension fade out of them as Crowley released a shaky breath. "If this means that you're free of him - that he's _gone_, and can't ever hurt you again - then I'll take that deal, my darling. In a heartbeat, I will."

Crowley dropped his gaze, letting out a slow, soft sigh. When at last he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, a little broken. "I'm afraid you're getting the lesser end of _this_ deal, angel."

"I most certainly am not!" Aziraphale was offended on Crowley's behalf. "You stop that!" he chided him gently, raising a hand to cup the back of Crowley's neck, drawing him in to kiss his lips softly before drawing back a little. "No one gets to talk about my dear Crowley that way," he declared with a sad, tender smile. "Not even you, my darling."

He was rewarded with the faintest of smiles in return, and he shifted in closer, slipping his arm around Crowley's waist, kissing his lips again.

"You are good," he repeated words he'd been reiterating quite frequently lately. "I love you. And you are _worthy _of it, Crowley. You _did not_ deserve what he did to you."

"Unless I did," Crowley whispered, eyes downcast, welling with tears. "Unless it's - judgment. I've - I've always been cursed, haven't I? Since Eden."

"Those are _his_ words," Aziraphale reminded Crowley, gentle but firm as he tilted Crowley's face back up to meet his warm, encouraging smile, searching Crowley's eyes with concern. "Are you going to listen to him, or are you going to listen to me?"

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, serious. His words came out quiet and halting. "I - think the answer might be _both_… for a while."

Aziraphale's voice was very soft. "Then I suppose I'll just have to work a bit harder… at drowning him out."

Aziraphale kissed Crowley again, running a hand through his hair, insistently drawing him closer, and at last Crowley raised his arms to wrap them around Aziraphale in return. He kissed back, tentative at first, then drinking it in with a desperate thirst. His hands clutched at Aziraphale's clothes, a hot, shaky gasp escaping his lips as he drew back a little, breathless.

"Angel," he whispered, "just… one thing. Could you… could you _not _call me… 'serpent', anymore? Please?"

The deep ache in his words, the unmistakable shame in the way he bowed his head, closing his eyes against Aziraphale's reaction to the request - it made Aziraphale's heart hurt. He was a bit caught off guard by it, and a little sad. As long as he could remember, he'd affectionately called Crowley a "wily old serpent" or occasionally "_my_ wily serpent". He was quite certain he was going to miss it. Quite a lot.

But he was learning, in new and heartbreaking ways every day, that in addition to the large, unmistakable things - countless tiny things had changed for Crowley. Innocent words, miniscule movements that now held entirely different meanings than they once had. Something Gabriel had said to Crowley had caused him to connect a sense of shame to his serpent self, and that realization breathed fresh life into the flame of Aziraphale's protective anger.

But that was a problem for another time.

_Right now_ \- Crowley _needed_ him, needed his reassurance that he could give him what he needed. That he could accept him as he was _now_, without complaining about all that they'd both lost when Gabriel had stripped away so many pieces of Crowley, bit by bit. It was a small sacrifice to make, really, if it would help to rid Crowley's mind of the dark, whispering voice of the archangel.

The last thing Aziraphale wanted was for Crowley to hear Gabriel's words on his lips.

"Of course, my love," Aziraphale assured him with a warm smile, between soft kisses. "When there are so many other lovely things I can call you…" He kissed him again. "Beautiful…" He pressed light kisses down Crowley's jaw toward the sensitive skin at his throat, whispering affirmations into his skin. "Clever… gorgeous… darling…"

Crowley groaned. "You're _ridiculous_," but a low, soft laugh escaped his lips as he tipped his head back to grant his angel better access.

Aziraphale could have cried with joy and relief to hear it - and he knew that he'd do anything just to hear it again, just to drive the ghosts from Crowley's mind and drive away the terror and tears and make him happy and safe again.

He'd do _anything_ for Crowley. Full stop.

And he was _going to_.

No matter what it cost him.


	29. Chapter 29

Hastur returned a couple of days later.

Crowley was relieved to learn that he had to be invited in again. Apparently, the initial invitation wasn't a permanent welcome mat. Hastur had to knock on the door and ring the bell repeatedly like any ordinary, if obnoxiously aggressive, person. Under his arm he carried the blade wrapped carefully in a cloth. It was a filthy, smelly cloth stained with what Crowley didn't even want to _think_ about - but it wasn't as if there were a lot of more sanitary options in Hell.

Crowley fixed Hastur with a suspicious frown as he stepped back to allow him entrance. "That was easy."

"It's not as if they're hard to come by." Hastur shrugged. "No one should even miss it, really. We just - don't use them all that much. Most cases, seems a bit of… overkill."

"Not in this case," Aziraphale declared quietly as he took the package from Hastur and carefully unwrapped a small, sharp, bronze dagger. The sunlight reflected off it with a reddish-gold tint that made Crowley think of the hellfire that had forged it.

His stomach was in knots. He stared at the small, rather harmless looking weapon as Aziraphale held it up for a moment to examine it.

"Careful," Crowley whispered, the single word cloaked in dread.

Aziraphale nodded slowly as he set the dagger down on the counter.

"How do we know it's legit?" Crowley asked Hastur.

Aziraphale answered, matter of fact. "According to the text, there's one… non-lethal way." He reached out his hand toward the blade, and Crowley felt as if his heart had just stopped - but Aziraphale did not touch the sharp edge, just the flat of the blade with a single fingertip... which he immediately pulled away with a little pained hiss through his teeth as he shook his fingers out. He was beaming like a fucking madman as he held up the singed, reddened finger for Crowley to see.

"It's real!"

Crowley was utterly horrified. "You knew it would do that?" he demanded, aghast.

"Well, _yes_, how else would we know it was real?" Aziraphale did not seem to see the problem - but after a moment staring obliviously back at Crowley, his expression softened, becoming apologetic. "It's only fatal if it cuts me, love."

"What if you'd slipped and touched the edge?" Crowley couldn't keep the anger from his trembling voice. "What if the book was wrong?"

"Darling, it wasn't, it's fine," Aziraphale assured him, moving in close, touching his arm.

Crowley did not want to be soothed. He jerked his arm away, glaring at his angel.

Hastur gave the two of them a knowing once-over. "You can contact me once it's done. I think I'll just leave you to work this out with your… _prisoner_."

"Yes, you do that," Aziraphale replied, more than a little absently, his brow furrowed into a worried frown, his attention was fully focused on Crowley. He persisted in moving closer to him, reaching up a careful hand to touch his hair, and Crowley let out a frustrated little growl, but didn't pull away. "And _do not_ return unless we call for you."

Hastur vanished in an instant. Aziraphale didn't seem to notice.

"It's all right, I'm fine," he insisted softly, his mouth falling with regret as Crowley finally relented, turning his face into Aziraphale's hand with a shaky little gasp. His heart was still racing, his stomach rolling with residual panic.

That was just _too bloody close_.

"It's just a tiny little burn," Aziraphale said, holding up his hand to show Crowley, who realized with grudging relief that it looked as if it had already started to heal on its own. "It won't spread. It won't do any further harm. That only happens if it breaks the skin."

"I - I fucking _hate_ this," Crowley growled, raising his hands to clutch at his hair in frustration.

"I know." Aziraphale was maddeningly impassive - sympathetic, regretful, but clearly not even _considering_ changing his course.

"It's too much," Crowley insisted. "Too risky, it's not worth - _I'm_ not…"

"_Stop_." Aziraphale's tender tone took on a stern note. "You _are_. You always have been. Crowley, I _love_ you."

"I-I love you too, angel, that's why you can't - you can't take chances with…" Crowley swallowed hard, struggling to regain control. "... can't leave me, _please_…"

Aziraphale caught Crowley's face in his hands, and Crowley surrendered to the warmth and reassurance in his eyes, raising his hands to cover Aziraphale's hands, soft against his skin, drinking in the angel's promise.

"I _never_ will."

Crowley's little plant was beginning to fare much better than it had in the beginning.

It was still a bit touch and go. A few of its leaves still had a tendency to wilt, and to carry a bit of brown around the edges - but for the most part, it was stronger and healthier, its delicate purple flowers vibrant and thriving.

Crowley grudgingly had to admit, if only in the secret places of his mind, that _perhaps_ it had something to do with the fact that he was no longer screaming at it on a regular basis.

He closed his eyes and focused his energy to heal what few defects remained, and smiled at the result. He had noticed that it was beginning to take a bit less effort, and it didn't seem to exhaust him as much as it once had. He wasn't quite sure if that meant the plant was getting stronger and healthier, or that _he_ was.

He carefully watered it, added a bit of plant food to the soil, all the while talking quietly to it. Speaking to it kindly had felt a bit awkward at first, but it was becoming more and more comfortable all the time.

"You're doing so much better, aren't you?" he said softly. "Doing so well… stronger every day, yeah? You'll get there…"

"Hello, darling."

The sound of Aziraphale's footsteps had preceded him, and his voice was hushed and calm from the kitchen doorway. He'd begun to change his habits as well - making a point of being heard in his approach, speaking before he was anywhere near close enough to touch.

Crowley turned toward him with a warm smile - which faded a little as he read his angel's expression. Aziraphale seemed… not exactly _troubled_, but perhaps… preoccupied? Something was clearly on his mind, something he wanted to discuss.

"Will you come and talk with me a bit?" he asked, confirming Crowley's conclusion. "It's… rather important, but… also rather sensitive, and… well, are you feeling quite all right at the moment, dear?"

Crowley frowned suspiciously at Aziraphale's anxiously fidgeting hands. "I _was_," he replied, dubious. "Worse by the second. Spit it out, angel."

Aziraphale bit his lip with a little grimace, then held out his hand for Crowley to take. Warily, Crowley complied, following him to the living room sofa - a place that had become home to many important conversations lately. Crowley's uncertainty grew as Aziraphale went through what had become his little ritual: miraculous cups of steaming tea for both of them, a soft blanket - which Crowley promptly tossed aside.

Still, he had to admit that he felt a bit calmer, just sitting here next to his angel. It was like reverse conditioning, he realized, fighting back a slightly panicked, somewhat bittersweet impulse to laugh.

Gabriel had trained him to be terrified.

Aziraphale was teaching him how to feel safe again.

"You see, it's just that… well, I've been studying, and… and what I've discovered… well, it's this:" Aziraphale drew in a deep breath, then let the rest out in a rush, "What do you know about the - the ritual that Gabriel performed? The one that you... showed me?"

Crowley's stomach lurched, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow.

Whatever he had expected that Aziraphale might want to talk about - it wasn't this.

He swallowed back the knot in his throat, his voice catching over the words. "I-I don't really want to - to talk about…"

"I know, my love, and I'm so sorry." Aziraphale was warm and genuinely apologetic, reaching out to cover Crowley's trembling hand with his own. "You must know I wouldn't ask, but - it's so that we can _undo_ it. _Please_."

Crowley felt sick, trying to block out the memories associated with that incident, with the mark that suddenly seemed to be burning at his back. He knew it wasn't, couldn't be, that wasn't how it _worked_, but it _was_, and he was going to be sick. He fought back the sense of impending panic, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

"It - it made me a slave," he whispered at last, closing his eyes. "Made me - his. Means I - I belong to him. Forever."

His eyes were burning, his vision blurred with tears. Wretchedly, he reached for the blanket he had cast aside, pulling it around his shoulders. Aziraphale immediately moved in closer to him, squeezing his hand gently. With his free hand, he fussed a bit with the blanket until it was settled comfortably, and then wrapped his arm around Crowley, warm and steady and supportive.

"It _doesn't_," he insisted fiercely. "_You don't_. I've found the ritual he - he _meant_ to use. And he _used it wrong_, Crowley. It was never intended to enslave anyone. No such thing has ever existed among angels, or even among demons. What he did was - to take an ancient angelic ritual, pre-dating even the Fall, and to - to _twist _it for his own vile purposes."

Crowley frowned, a little confused - but with the beginnings of hope stirring in his chest. It was beginning to sound like maybe what Gabriel had done _was _invalid - could be _broken_.

"What - what was it meant for?" he asked, cautious and quiet.

Aziraphale didn't answer directly, his response suspiciously evasive. "The ritual he used, it - it requires - an invitation. Like the invitation he - coerced you into making. Inviting him…"

"Into my bed." Crowley closed his eyes, the weight of his shame bearing down on his shoulders, the heat of it flushing his face.

The bed that Gabriel had _given_ him - that was _never_ a gift, but a trick from the very start. It all made sense now. The room, the bed... the illusion of a tiny scrap of freedom, of privilege, after so long with _nothing_. As Crowley began to put the pieces together, to understand how _Gabriel_ had put it all together… the intricate pieces of an elaborate entrapment… he felt foolish and weak and utterly disgusted with himself.

_He had to make sure you had _something, _right? Something left to give? Otherwise how could you hand it over to him?_

_You stupid little slut._

Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently. "Yes," he agreed, regretful. "It requires - specific words, which he forced you to repeat back to him."

"_My body is yours… every part of me is yours…"_

"It requires sexual consummation," Aziraphale continued, his voice halting, visibly uncomfortable. "Which… both parties must physically… _complete_."

Crowley pulled his hand free of Aziraphale's gentle grasp in order to hide his face in his hands, shaking his head. His shame was thick and heavy in his throat, choking him.

"I didn't want it," he whispered desperately, hot tears escaping his eyes. "I didn't want it, angel, I swear I didn't…"

"I know you didn't, darling," Aziraphale assured him, hushed and tender, a gentle hand carding through his hair, then sliding down to rest at the back of his neck, his thumb stroking slow, soothing circles. "I'm so sorry, my love. I didn't want to dredge all this up again for you, it's just… so very important that you understand. What he did. How it can be… undone."

Crowley nodded. He gulped in a deep rush of air, then let it out in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. "Right." He swiped at his eyes, made himself look at Aziraphale. "Yeah, got it. Go on."

Aziraphale frowned at him, looking fretful and concerned, but he picked up a book from the coffee table and opened it to a page he had marked. He held it away from Crowley for a moment, hesitating.

"This is - this is the sort of mark that appears when the ritual is done properly - with full consent from both parties - with its original meaning and intention."

He held out the book, placing it across Crowley's lap, then settled in a little nearer on the sofa, his arm around Crowley holding him just a little closer - as if braced for his reaction. Crowley stared down at the picture in front of him, taking it in, slowly processing exactly what it was he was seeing. It was a pattern of sigils, similar to the one Gabriel had branded onto him - but very different in very significant ways. Like Gabriel's mark, it was made up of three Enochian sigils - two of them angelic names.

But the two names in the picture were interwoven so intricately and evenly that neither one could be said to be on top of or overpowering the other. They were a perfectly equal combination. And intertwined with the two of them was a third Enochian word - but it wasn't the word for slave.

In the ancient language of the angels, it meant, "eternal companion" or "lifetime partner".

Its closest English equivalent would have been… "_spouse"_.

Crowley's heart was racing again, thudding in his ears. His hands shook too hard to hold onto the book - but he didn't want to anymore, anyway. He shoved it off his lap onto the floor in disgust. Aziraphale gave it a brief, dismayed look, but then ignored it. And even through his shock and panic, Crowley was just the slightest bit impressed by that.

Aziraphale, ignoring a no doubt priceless book, in favor of focusing on Crowley.

He must have looked exactly as wrecked as he felt.

"You - you're telling me I'm _married_ to him?" Crowley nearly choked on the words.

"No, no, no," Aziraphale insisted hurriedly. "I'm telling you you're _not_! But of course, you had never even considered the _possibility_ that you might be married to him before now, until I just threw it out there so carelessly." He winced. "I - I'm sorry, I'm making rather a mess of this…" He took a breath, then tried again. "Gabriel based his ritual on this one. But - he altered it. He made it a one-way bond, for one thing. His intention was that… you would be bound to him, but he would not be bound to you. Reflecting a... master/slave dynamic. Which has never existed, among angels."

"But _marriage _does?" Crowley was incredulous, horrified. "How have I never heard of this?"

Aziraphale smiled sadly. "Because… I rather imagine it's been a very, very long time since any angels have used it." He was quiet for a moment, before he began to explain. "It's not _exactly _marriage, marriage is - such a very human concept, but - it's very similar. It's a lifelong spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical bond, between - two angels who feel a deeper… _connection_ with each other than with all others. Enough that they would choose each other, for all eternity. It was… admittedly rather rare, but - it happened. On occasion. And it was ordained of Her. Validated by Her." He paused, his tone bittersweet when he continued, "There was actually a time when Heaven really was about love above all else."

His expression darkened, his tone taking on an angry note. "But _this_ \- this was never something she would have condoned. This is something for which there is _no precedent_." He squeezed Crowley's hand, leaned in closer, and Crowley reluctantly met his gaze. "If it had been in any way legitimate - in any way recognized by _Her_… then the mark would have appeared on its own. Miraculously."

Crowley thought about that for a moment… but that led his mind to exactly how the mark _had_ been made, and then all at once he swiftly found himself spiraling down into his memories - the scent of holy water, the searing sting of it on his skin, the feeling of Gabriel's fingers sliding down his spine.

"Crowley, love… _look at me_." Aziraphale's tone was intent, almost severe, and Crowley looked up at him, blinking, feeling a little lost. "It was _wrong_, on every possible level. He had to brand it into you - had to _force_ it - because it _did not_ happen miraculously once he carried out the ritual. And it would have, if She had accepted it. It is _illegitimate_, because it was _non-consensual_, and it is _in no way..._ eternal."

As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley gradually managed to focus, and the words slowly sunk in. As his shell-shocked mind processed the impact of Aziraphale's discovery, Crowley wasn't really sure _what_ he was feeling.

Relief. Horror. Shock - yes, definitely.

_Overwhelmed_ just about covered it.

He absently reached a hand back behind him, close to the mark, but not quite touching it. He felt a deep sense of sorrow wash over him. It was a holy water scar, whatever else it was.

It wasn't just going to disappear.

"Oh, angel," he said, hushed and sorrowful, with a faint little smile. "I'm afraid it's as eternal as I am."

Aziraphale's face fell with sympathy, and he gently pulled Crowley into his arms. Crowley surrendered willingly, gratefully, resting his head against the angel's shoulder and allowing himself to be held. Aziraphale soothed Crowley's trembling with firm, rhythmic touches up and down his back, soft fingers in his hair, gentle kisses against his brow, his temple. They were quiet for a while, before Aziraphale broke the silence, his voice hushed and cautious, his words weighted.

"Perhaps - perhaps not."

Crowley slowly sat up to look at him, studying him with wary eyes. There was something Aziraphale was very distinctly _not _saying.

Crowley's words came out in a hoarse, tearful croak. "What are you talking about?"

"I - I think I may know of a way in which it could be - wiped out entirely," Aziraphale offered, hesitant, but then hurried to qualify it. "But it's not without consequence, and it's not to be entered into lightly. I'm not sure it's a thing you'd want to do at all…"

"Angel, just tell me." Crowley stared up at him, trying to contain the hope rising within him, trying to focus on his angel's warnings instead. "What is it?"

Aziraphale didn't - not yet. He looked away, his warm blue eyes troubled and strangely vulnerable as he reached out to take Crowley's hand again. "Crowley…" he began, cautious. "... you are with me… here with me now… why? I hope you don't feel like - like you _must_ be, or like you haven't a choice…"

Oh, his dear, silly angel.

Crowley didn't know how Aziraphale could possibly even wonder. There was something reassuring about it, though - the realization that it wasn't only Crowley who held insecurities and uncertainty in his heart.

"Well," he began, "magical sanctuary spell aside…" Aziraphale winced a little, and Crowley sighed, sliding in a little closer to his angel and wrapping his free arm around him. "Angel, I love you. You know that's why I'm here."

Aziraphale was quiet, staring down at their joined hands. His voice was so very careful, even and measured. "Do you suspect there could… ever come a time when you might… change your mind?"

Crowley let go of Aziraphale's hand in order to tilt his face up to look at him, aghast at the suggestion, _needing_ Aziraphale to understand how _utterly ridiculous_ it was.

"Of course not!" he declared, with complete certainty, and no trace of doubt. "Angel, I've _always_ loved you. For _six millennia_. Long before I ever became this…" He hesitated, grimacing and waving his hand as he searched for the right words. He rolled his eyes at himself as he concluded, "... helpless, wilting flower in need of your care and protection."

Aziraphale frowned, visibly offended, and the fact that he was offended at Crowley, for Crowley, only made Crowley love him more dearly. The angel's lips parted for an indignant protest.

Crowley went on before he could utter it.

"There is nowhere and no one else for me. Nor will there ever be."

Aziraphale's expression softened, tears shining in his eyes - visibly, desperately relieved. "Oh, my darling, I was so hoping you'd say that!" He turned his entire body to face Crowley more fully, taking his arm from around Crowley in order to take both of his hands instead. "I believe I know what can wipe out that ill-formed, half-complete bond - wipe all traces of it from existence. Including that hateful mark."

He swallowed slowly, closing his eyes for a moment and drawing in a deep breath. Then, he slid off the couch and to his knees in front of Crowley, facing him. His blue eyes were wide and earnest, searching Crowley's gaze as he spoke, hushed in the stillness.

"If we _make a new one_. Replace his false claim with - with a _legitimate_ one. If you'll - if you'll _marry_ me, Crowley."

He laughed a little over the word - and Crowley knew why. It seemed so simple a thing, so _human_ and ridiculous, but - it meant _so much_.

Too much.

Crowley was at a loss. He didn't know what to say. He was overwhelmed by the onslaught of new information, his mind still busily rearranging everything he'd thought he'd known about what Gabriel had done to him. It was a lot to process, in the space of a few minutes' time.

And he was utterly stunned by his angel's proposal.

Why would Aziraphale want to attach himself to Crowley… _for all eternity_? No divorce if he changed his mind, no take-backs once he realized how he'd been swindled - just _forever_, permanently saddled with Crowley and his issues.

_How - how could he possibly _want _that?_

"Say yes," Aziraphale whispered, love and hope shining eagerly from his eyes - along with a few tears. His eyes had never looked so crystal blue, his pure, perfect heart openly on display and held out in his hands - and Crowley had never in 6000 years loved him more. "Please, darling," Aziraphale brushed his thumbs across the backs of Crowley's hands, lifted them together to his lips, bowed his head and closed his eyes, murmuring the words like a prayer against his skin. "Please say yes… _please say yes_…"

Crowley stared at him, stared at their joined hands, then looked back up into Aziraphale's wide, earnest eyes, and whispered,

"... _No_."


	30. Chapter 30

"_Very good… you've done so well for me, sweetheart…" _

_Crowley shivered as the archangel's fingers swept his hair out of the way to press a possessive kiss to the back of his neck. He choked back an agonized cry as Gabriel withdrew from him and allowed his body to drop, the searing chains stopping his fall abruptly with a jerk that sent a fresh spasm of pain through his torn, tormented wings._

"_Shhh…" Gabriel ran a hand gently along the length of Crowley's shuddering wing, soothing him. "... we're all done now… it's over…" _

_Then he snapped his fingers again, and Crowley's heart clenched with terror. _

Please no more, please I can't, I _can't…_

_But no more pain was inflicted than the impact of his body against the cold tile floor, as the chains all disappeared. It took Crowley a moment to realize that Gabriel had told the truth: it was over, he was finished - for now, at least. An aching sob of relief rose up in Crowley's throat, as he collapsed with his face to the floor, his body and soul devastated and exhausted._

"_Thank you," he gasped out, breathless, choked with tears. "Th-thank you, master…" _

"_It's all right…" Gabriel's voice was hushed, sympathetic, as he crouched down next to Crowley, his touch unusually gentle as he put his arms around him and pulled him up onto his knees. "All done now, you did so well, sweetheart… you've been so good for me…" _

_Gabriel ran soothing fingers through Crowley's hair, encouraging him to rest his head against his chest - and Crowley readily complied. It was the comforting touch, the soft praise that finally just _shattered _him, and he wept with relief in the arms of his tormentor. _

_Gabriel gave him a few minutes to calm down, just stroking his hair, speaking softly to him - and then he lifted Crowley's arm, weak and limp with exhaustion, to wrap it around his shoulders. _

"_Hold on," he quietly instructed, cradling Crowley in his arms as he rose effortlessly to his feet. Crowley whimpered with pain at the movement, and Gabriel just curled his hand around to brush his hair back from his forehead, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley's temple. "It's all right now… you're all right, you've done well… I'm very pleased with you." _

_Crowley turned his face into the archangel's chest, sobbing harder, his arm around Gabriel's shoulders instinctively holding on tighter. He felt the damp spot beneath his cheek, and felt a moment's cold terror at the realization that he was staining Gabriel's freshly miracled shirt, with blood and tears and everything. But Gabriel just cupped the back of his head with his hand - affectionate, encouraging - and pressed him in closer. _

_He carried Crowley to his room, where he laid him down on the bed on his stomach, his hand stroking slowly up and down Crowley's back. Crowley shivered, his heart sinking at the easy, intimate slide of Gabriel's fingertips over his skin. _

_Perhaps the archangel wasn't done with him, after all. _

_Stupid mistake, allowing himself to fall apart like that, weeping and shaking and _breaking _in just the way he _knew _Gabriel liked him best - when he was just too far gone, too delirious with pain and terror to hold it together at all. If Gabriel raped him _again_, now, after everything, it was his own damn fault for tempting him into it. He hadn't even _meant _to; was he that evil, that mired in wickedness, that he could tempt an angel to sin without even trying? _

_But Gabriel made no move to hurt Crowley any further. He just ran his hands slowly, gently, down Crowley's back. And when he _did _reach for Crowley's wings, he didn't grasp or pull or twist his fingers into the bloody, sweat-soaked feathers. He just ran a hand gently over the surface of each wing in turn, the healing warmth of his grace doing its work to ease the pain. _

_Just a little. _

_Crowley was more surprised that Gabriel was healing him _at all_, than he was that he didn't heal him completely. He knew Gabriel liked leaving marks on him - bruises and burns all signs of his ownership, reminders to Crowley in the hours he spent alone in this room, of all the things that Gabriel had done to him, and would do again - just because he could. _

_But he _did _ease the pain, and cleaned up the burnt feathers and the bloody places where the blessed chains had eaten through the demon's flesh. He brushed Crowley's hair back from his face, continually whispering reassurance and affirmation. _

"_That's a good boy… so good for me, Crowley… so happy with you, sweetheart…"_

_Crowley couldn't help leaning into the comforting touch, hot tears of gratitude springing to his eyes. It'd just been _so long _since anyone had touched him with anything resembling kindness. Usually when Gabriel touched him gently, it was a deception, an instant before pain and punishment. _

_But this time - this felt different. _

_This felt _real_. _

_It wasn't, he reminded himself through the pleasant haze of soft comfort and the warm afterglow of the angel's healing touch. It wasn't real. It was another trick, it had to be. It wasn't real. _

_But it _felt _real. _

_Wasn't it? _

"_You'd do anything I told you to do, wouldn't you, Crowley?" _

_Crowley nodded, automatically, honestly. "Yes, master," he whispered, barely a breath in his exhaustion. _

"_No matter how much it hurts. No matter how bad it gets." _

_Crowley shivered a little. He couldn't imagine it getting any worse than it had this time. He didn't want to think about what things _Gabriel _might yet be capable of imagining. _

"_Yes, master," he promised, a slight tremor in his voice. _

_Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley flinched - just a little, he couldn't help it. _

Stupid, keep still, don't move, he's _pleased _with you, you useless idiot, don't fuck it up, don't...

_But no pain followed the sound. Instead, Crowley found that the sheets and blankets on his bed were instantly clean of all traces of blood and ash - sweetly scented and fresh and comfortably warm. Gabriel ran his hand down Crowley's back one more time, stopping to press his palm lightly against his mark there - and Crowley let out a soft gasp, abruptly overwhelmed with a sense of calm and reassurance, driving out the fear and pain and replacing it with peace. _

_It was as fleeting as the touch of Gabriel's hand. When he withdrew it, the loss was a cold, empty ache in Crowley's chest. _

_Gabriel smoothed Crowley's hair once more, then pulled the clean, soft blankets up around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. _

"_You've made me very happy tonight, sweetheart," he said, low and almost tender, close to his ear, gentle fingers reaching to stroke through Crowley's wing. "Rest now…"_

_It felt good._

_It felt like _Crowley _was good. He'd pleased his master. The pain could be over for now. _

_When Gabriel finally got up and walked toward the door, something broke inside Crowley - something he hadn't even realized was left to be broken - because, Satan help him, he _ached _for that gentle touch to return. And when the door closed behind his master, a cold ache settled in Crowley's chest… an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness… as for the very first time, he found himself desperately wishing for the archangel to return. _

"Please, darling… please say yes…" Aziraphale could scarcely breathe, his heart racing as he waited for Crowley's response.

"... _No_."

That was… _not_ the response Aziraphale had hoped for.

His face fell, as he looked up at Crowley in confusion, echoing softly, "No?"

Crowley blinked, eyes going wide as if he'd only just realized what he said. "I mean… not _no_, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

Aziraphale's heart sank at the unmistakable note of panic building in Crowley's voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, and steadied himself to focus on _Crowley's_ feelings rather than his own - however hurt they might have been at the moment.

"_Crowley_," he said firmly, reaching up to touch his demon's face - grimly realizing that his worries were well-founded when Crowley actually flinched a little. "It's all right if it's no. You… have _every right_ to say no, if that's what you mean."

Crowley frowned, closing his eyes for a moment and drawing in a sharp, shaky breath. "But - it isn't," he protested, shaking his head a little, agitated and uncertain. "What I mean is… no, I can't say _yes_. Now. _Yet_. I mean…" He opened his eyes to meet Aziraphale's gaze. "I need a little time, angel, yeah? This is… it's a lot."

His golden eyes were wide and imploring and just a little _lost_ \- and Aziraphale could completely understand why he'd said it. He could. He'd just unloaded a lot of information on Crowley, and then, without giving him time to process it, followed it up by asking for a monumental, _eternal_ commitment from him, and _of course_ Crowley needed time.

That didn't stop it from still stinging a bit.

"Of course it is, darling," he said softly, lifting himself up on his knees to press a light kiss to the corner of Crowley's stunned, slack mouth, before rising to his feet. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laid it on you so abruptly. Take all the time you need, really…"

As he spoke, he turned to move away, to give Crowley the space he needed - but Crowley held on tight to his hand, tugging him back a little. Aziraphale turned to look at him, surprised and wondering - and then simply _melting_ when, eyes closed, Crowley pressed his brow to the back of Aziraphale's hand with a shaky little gasp. There was a sense of yearning to the gesture, a wordless plea, and Aziraphale realized all at once that while Crowley had asked for _time_... he had not actually asked for _space_.

Aziraphale sat back down on the sofa, pulling Crowley gently into his arms, gratified when Crowley easily settled in against him, his forehead pressed into Aziraphale's shoulder. Gratified - and deeply relieved, really, that he hadn't frightened his love away completely with his rash proposal.

"It's a lot to process," Aziraphale acknowledged, keeping his voice hushed and even, fingers trailing slowly through Crowley's hair to calm him. "I know it is, love. And there isn't any rush."

They stayed there in silence for quite a while, long enough that Aziraphale actually thought that Crowley had fallen asleep, and was a little startled when his hoarse, hesitant voice broke the silence.

"What would it mean, if - if one of us _did_ change his mind? Later on? Would we have the _option_ to… to separate?"

Aziraphale wasn't hurt by the words - just deeply saddened. Because he knew better than to think that Crowley was implying that he himself might change his mind. No, Crowley was afraid that _Aziraphale_ might come to regret their union. He closed his eyes for a moment, resisting the urge to simply reassure Crowley, to pour out promises that that would never happen, not _ever_. He was fairly certain that Crowley wouldn't accept it anyway, right now, with his fears and insecurities so close to the surface.

At any rate… Crowley was owed the truth.

"It isn't as if it'd… physically _hurt_ to be separated, or anything like that," he explained. "But, in the eyes of God… we'd be one. Sexual congress with - with others, without the consent of one another, would be… a sin."

Crowley let out a little scoffing sound, his soft hair brushing against Aziraphale's chin as he turned his head so that he could speak clearly. "Demon, here," he reminded his angel. "I'm practically _made_ of sin, what's one more?"

Aziraphale smiled, brushing an affectionate kiss against the top of Crowley's head. He could recall quite a few moments between the two of them when he'd had very much the same thought about Crowley - but in a vastly different context.

But that was hardly relevant at the moment.

"If… one of us wanted to leave the relationship," he clarified, swallowing against the ache in his throat, "we could feasibly do so. If you decided you wanted to be… somewhere else, to be… _with_ someone else… if that was what you wanted, I wouldn't make it difficult for you." He paused for a moment before adding fervently, "But _I won't_ want to, darling, not ever."

Crowley's hand at his waist squeezed gently, and he fell silent again for a little while. When he spoke again, his voice was touched with a note of insecurity, halting and unsure.

"You want to do this, to - to save me. From Gabriel. But…"

"_No_." Aziraphale cut him off firmly, reaching down to tilt Crowley's face up toward him. "Darling, no, I - I've wanted this for longer than I can remember. I simply - never had the courage to say anything," he explained with a wry, self-effacing smile, that then faded into something darker, more sorrowful, as he admitted, "Or… to face the consequences of… of _openly_…"

"_Loving me_," Crowley whispered, his tone hushed and softly bewildered - and it broke Aziraphale's heart a little to think that he found it so difficult to believe.

He'd had him convinced, once, _finally, _years into their relationship - not only that he loved him, but that he was _worthy_ of it. That it was safe to accept it, to _let_ Aziraphale love him. That he wouldn't somehow ruin and corrupt Aziraphale, simply by loving him in return.

And then… _Gabriel_.

_Time for him later. Crowley needs you _now.

"_I do_ love you," Aziraphale promised. "And I'm finished with hiding it, Crowley. No more secrets. You - you said that morning, before - before they took you…" Crowley flinched a little against him, and Aziraphale's arms tightened around him, protectively. "... you said… you were tired of being my secret… and I don't want you to be. Not ever again. I want… the _whole universe_ to know: I love you. I'm yours. And there'll never be anyone else for me."

Crowley was very quiet, but Aziraphale could feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, heard the soft hitch of his breath. He kissed his hair again, just a soft brush of his lips, before speaking again, his own voice thick with unshed tears.

"_That's_ why. If it means that - that _bastard_ can never touch you again, well - that's quite an enticing side benefit."

They fell silent after that for a while… and a while after that, Crowley did finally drift off in Aziraphale's arms. Aziraphale reached for his book on the coffee table, but found that it was impossible to focus. When Crowley woke up a little later, it was just to move to the bed where he could sleep properly.

Aziraphale felt a little sad, a little guilty. He supposed it was a natural response for many people - most certainly for Crowley - to hide away in sleep when things became a bit too overwhelming. He moved to his desk with a couple of ancient texts, and settled in to try to study a bit. After a while, he found his mind engrossed enough to momentarily forget about the conversation, and his ill-fated proposal.

It was several hours later when Crowley emerged from the bedroom, slipping up behind Aziraphale and embracing him, his chin resting on Aziraphale's shoulder and his long arms draped around his neck. Aziraphale smiled as he turned to kiss his cheek. Crowley smiled faintly in return, but then his expression became pensive and thoughtful, and Aziraphale prepared himself for another question.

"You said it was 'not without consequence," Crowley reminded him, his voice hoarse with sleep. "So… what does that mean? Define 'consequence'."

"Oh." Aziraphale felt himself blush a little, cleared his throat, self-conscious. "Well, I rather meant… that you'd be more or less… well, stuck with me."

Crowley let out a derisive little huff. "You're ridiculous," he muttered, turning his face to press a kiss into Aziraphale's neck, and the angel felt his embarrassed blush bloom into a warm swelling heat in his chest. "Thought we were talking about _consequences_, not _benefits_."

Aziraphale turned his chair away from the desk and toward Crowley, who settled comfortably in his lap for a few minutes of lazy, gentle kissing, before reluctantly getting up and heading toward the kitchen to see to his plant. Aziraphale watched him go with grateful affection, desperately relieved that he hadn't inadvertently destroyed what they had with his hasty proposal. With a happy, if slightly impatient, sigh, he returned his focus to the books spread out across his desk, trying to better understand the bond he was asking Crowley to form with him.

Besides the marks - matching, miraculous in origin - there were other things as well.

"_In the eyes of God, two become one…"_

Aziraphale knew what that phrasing meant in terms of human marriage, and it was reasonable to assume it meant something similar when it came to a pair of angels - but for an angel and a demon? He had to wonder what that might mean, in a practical sense.

Would his "holiness" somehow raise Crowley out of his Fallen state? Would _Aziraphale_ end up falling, to be like Crowley?

Or perhaps the reference was to something else entirely, and he was completely missing the point.

"Crowley, darling?" he called out toward the kitchen where he'd last seen him disappear.

He frowned when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the shop.

Then, he saw Crowley's _face_ \- tear-streaked, pale, eyes large and haunted.

The heat of anger in Aziraphale's chest flared into a raging flame, as he rose from his seat and went to Crowley, putting his arms around him and holding him close as he cried against his shoulder.

"How long was he here for?" Aziraphale asked softly, dreading the answer.

"Not long," Crowley whispered. "A - a few minutes. I - I walked away. Closed the door and walked away."

"_Yes_, my love, I'm _so proud_ of you," Aziraphale told him, fiercely encouraging. "Come, let's sit down, come on…" They sat together on the sofa for a little while in silence, before Aziraphale added, a little sadly, "You don't have to go downstairs at all when he comes here. You know that. You don't have to listen to him."

Gabriel had come to the door at least twice since the first time - that Aziraphale knew of. Each time, he told Crowley this.

Each _next_ time... Crowley went to the door anyway.

Crowley didn't say anything, just remained quiet in Aziraphale's arms, still, as he gradually regained his composure. When he carefully pushed himself up, out of the angel's embrace, Aziraphale could _feel_ that something was off, even before he took in the cool, distant expression on Crowley's face, the way he wouldn't look Aziraphale in the eye.

Crowley swallowed slowly, closed his eyes for a moment. "I did a lot of things I didn't have to, you know," he remarked, with a forced casual tone that still didn't quite mask the vicious disgust, the self-loathing, in his words. "He didn't always… have to _force_ me."

"_Crowley_…"

Aziraphale had to try to stop him - but Crowley did not want to be stopped.

"Did you know I tried to get him to fuck me sometimes?" Crowley _did_ meet Aziraphale's eyes then - challenging, defiant, _daring_ him to say it was okay, that he should be excused or forgiven for _that_. "Didn't want him to slap me around, or - or use my ribs for a punching bag, so I'd - I'd go to my knees for him. _Chose_ to - to touch him. To _tempt_ him. 'Til he'd do what - what I wanted."

The raw pain underlying the words was so thick that Aziraphale was fairly _choking_ on it. He felt a fresh wave of rage building deep down in his chest, because he _knew_ this wasn't coming out of nowhere, it was _no coincidence_ that it was immediately following one of Gabriel's little visits. But Aziraphale swiftly stifled his anger at the archangel, anger that, in the wake of his rather aggressive confession, Crowley would _certainly_ misinterpret.

Instead, he focused on Crowley.

Aziraphale had no doubt that Crowley _absolutely did not_ want the things that he was describing. It had been nothing but sheer survival. Aziraphale knew that. He also knew exactly why Crowley was choosing to bring this up _now_. He didn't want Aziraphale to end up "stuck with him". Bless him, he wanted his angel to know what he was getting into.

Aziraphale _did _know. He _wanted_ to get into it… and never get out.

He reached out a gentle hand to touch Crowley's face, ignoring it when Crowley flinched a little, even though it made his heart ache to see it - as if on some level, some deep down part of Crowley still expected that Aziraphale might slap him for his defiance, or for his deliberately offensive words. Crowley's eyes darted to Aziraphale's hand for a moment in surprise, before he looked up at him, eyes wide and wary.

"Brave, clever boy," Aziraphale said with clear admiration, meeting Crowley's visible shock with a warm smile. "You did what you had to do, to keep him from hurting you quite as badly, in an _impossible_ situation." His smile went steely and cold as he concluded, "And now we're going to make him pay. For _every single time_ he ever touched you."

Crowley tried it again the next morning, over breakfast.

"Sometimes he was kind."

Aziraphale's teacup paused on its way to his lips for just the briefest second, before he lifted it the rest of the way and took a sip, as he watched Crowley and listened for him to go on.

"Sometimes, when he'd taken it a bit too far - hurt me a bit too much, he'd just - he'd hold me."

Aziraphale did not allow himself to flinch, because Crowley was watching for it, waiting for his words to hit their mark so he could know that it was officially _too much_, that Aziraphale couldn't take it - and Aziraphale _could_ take it, he would, no matter what, because Crowley was _worth it_. So he kept his expression calm but attentive, nodding as if that was completely normal and understandable and _not_ a mental image that made him want to vomit up his breakfast and carve Gabriel's vile heart out - not necessarily in that order.

"He'd touch me. Gently. Not to hurt me, just - to comfort me. And tell me what a _good boy_ I was." Crowley glared up at Aziraphale, eyes defiantly glittering with tears. "I _liked_ it. I tried to get him to do _more _of that. Tried to be _so very good_ for him, so that he'd touch me like _that_. Like a - a beaten _dog _hoping it'd be pet this time instead of kicked."

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, measuring his words, preparing them carefully. At last he spoke, with a soft, disarming smile. "You know… I appreciate a really good meal."

Crowley blinked at him, surprised and confused. "... Yeah?" he replied at last, trying, and not quite managing to maintain his challenging, vaguely hostile demeanor.

"But… if I was starving… genuinely _starving _because I'd had nothing for so long… longer than I could remember…" Aziraphale met Crowley's eyes, willing him to see the understanding, the love he felt for him despite his efforts to break it. "... then, in that situation, someone else's leftovers… scraps from the rubbish bin… whatever I could get my hands on to just _survive_…"

"You can't starve," Crowley pointed out, his words a listless whisper as he dropped his gaze, sitting back in his chair - defeated. He shook his head a little as Aziraphale rose from his seat to make his way around the table, then knelt facing Crowley and took hold of his hands. They were trembling as Crowley whispered, "I - I was so weak. I - shouldn't have…"

"You _needed_ it, Crowley. I know that. No one can survive for that long without the slightest gentle touch… a bit of comfort, _especially_ in the midst of so much suffering…"

"I - I _let_ him…" Crowley lowered his head, tears falling in dark, wet drops on his jeans. "I don't _deserve_ to have you, angel. I - I've been… unfaithful. Physically. Emotionally…"

"Nonsense," Aziraphale assured him, trying to meet his eyes with a warm smile. "You've been as faithful as you could possibly be. You did whatever you _had to do_, to make sure that you could come _home_ to me… to _survive_, my love…"

With an effort, Crowley lifted his faltering gaze, finally staring into Aziraphale's eyes - bewildered and doubtful. "You - you forgive me?" he whispered.

Aziraphale leaned in closer, holding Crowley's gaze, his voice hushed but fervent. "There is _nothing to forgive_." He rose up on his knees and took Crowley's face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing away a tear from beneath his eye. "My darling boy… you can keep on trying to come up with things you think will change my mind… horrors of this past year you've spent away from me that you believe will somehow make me see you as - as _less_. You can try and try to make me see you in the way that he made you see yourself - but that will _never happen_."

Quietly, Crowley broke down, his trembling hands reaching up to cover Aziraphale's hands, tears slipping through his lowered lashes as Aziraphale continued, warm and earnest and reassuring.

"None of the unjust, cruel torments he visited upon you will ever make me see you as any less than brave, and strong, and the most faithful and loving you could _possibly_ have been, Crowley. Because you endured it _for me_. You _survived_ \- to come home _to me_. And no matter what - I'm _not _going anywhere. Not unless you hold the door open and boot me out, love."

He laughed softly, and Crowley laughed with him through his tears, pointing out weakly, "'S your place…"

"Yours, too," Aziraphale insisted. "If you want it." He took a deep breath, then continued, "You'll never be alone in that darkness again - never have to survive on _scraps_ of affection. Because I'll always love you, more than my own life. I'll always _be here_, my love… always. If you'll have me. And it's not because I love _all_ living things, and it's not because I feel some need to save you - it's because _you_, Crowley - are the only one in 6000 years I've ever loved this way, and if I live another 6000 years… I don't want a moment of it to not have you in it."

Crowley closed his eyes, turned his mouth into Aziraphale's palm to brush a kiss into it. He swallowed slowly.

"I will," he whispered.

Aziraphale smiled, gently caressing Crowley's face - and then his heart _stopped_ for a moment when Crowley opened his eyes again and looked at him and repeated the words… soft, intent.

"_I will_."

Suddenly Aziraphale's heart was racing, as understanding slowly dawned. "You - you will? You mean, you _will_?"

Crowley laughed through his tears, rolling his eyes. "Bloody - _yes_, angel, all right? Yes, I _will_!"

Aziraphale stared at him in wonder for a long moment, scarcely daring to believe it - and then all at once, Aziraphale was the one who was just _sobbing_, so overwhelmed with relief and love and gratitude. And Crowley was the one who was comforting him, as he wrapped his arms around him, and drew him in close, whispering soothing sounds against his ear and kissing the salt of his tears from his trembling lips.


	31. Chapter 31

_The Archangel Gabriel was never nervous. _

_He was a creature of power, and authority, feared by many, respected by most - and generally speaking, he feared no one. Angels did as he told them. His plans succeeded. He got what he wanted. And he was most definitely never nervous. _

_The Archangel Gabriel was never nervous - but he was right now, as he paced back and forth in the hallway outside Crowley's room, his jaw locked with anger, tugging at his hair in frustration. _

_Michael had done this on purpose - springing this on him at the last possible moment, with no warning, so that he couldn't possibly rig the results… so that he wouldn't have time to prepare Crowley, to coach him. He smiled to himself a little, taking a deep breath as he stopped outside the door. _

_Michael didn't know what he knew. _

_Gabriel had all the time he could ever need. _

_He snapped his fingers and felt the electric crackle, the unnatural stillness that immediately surrounded him as time stopped. He considered just walking into the room, but decided against it. He wanted Crowley a bit off balance, acutely vulnerable. He took him by surprise, instead, snapping his fingers again and simply appearing in the center of Crowley's room, facing the bed - because _of course _Crowley was in the bed, hiding in his sweet little nest as if it could somehow protect him from whatever Gabriel decided he wanted to do to him. _

_It was fucking adorable._

_So was the way his eyes went wide and panicked, the blankets tangling around his long limbs as the demon scrambled desperately to get out of the bed and to his knees before his master, the moment he materialized in front of him. Gabriel suppressed the smile of amusement that rose to his lips at the sight. It wouldn't do to show Crowley even the slightest trace of softness or affection - not just yet. _

_He circled the kneeling demon slowly, taking in his healing wings, still torn and burned in places. He considered for a moment before passing a hand across them behind Crowley's back and healing the remaining damage. _

_Crowley's shoulders drew in a little, and he began to tremble, even as he whispered a halting, uncertain, "Th-thank you, master." _

_Gabriel allowed himself a smile behind Crowley's back, relishing his little shudder as he gently traced his fingertips along the upper edge of Crowley's wing. Crowley's fear just proved how well he'd come to know and predict his master's preferences. Healing was usually nothing more than Gabriel's preparation to inflict some new suffering upon him - and he knew it. _

_Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley flinched violently - but all Gabriel had done was clothe him. _

_He needed to be presentable for this. _

_He paced back around to face Crowley, crouching down and reaching up a hand to run gentle fingers through his hair, observing the way Crowley tensed, but did not pull away. He was shaking, braced for suffering - but Gabriel waited just a little longer, waited until Crowley was _really _on edge before breaking the silence. _

"_You're going to be tested today," he informed him. "Before the Archangel Michael." _

_Crowley looked up at him sharply, through wide, startled eyes - and Gabriel really wasn't surprised. Crowley rarely had any interactions with other angels, only Gabriel - and the whole affair had come as a shock to _him_, too. It was an understandable reaction, one that under ordinary circumstances, Gabriel _might _have let slide, if he was feeling particularly charitable. _

_He wasn't. _

_He could use this; Crowley had to get the message - had to know that _nothing _but _complete submission _was acceptable today._

_Gabriel stood up, abruptly towering over Crowley, who immediately lowered his gaze, lowered his entire body, curling in on himself as he realized his mistake. Gabriel paced away from him a bit with a bitter, angry laugh, running a frustrated hand down his own face - allowing the nerves he felt to manifest themselves into rage, to pour forth in his sarcastic words. _

"_And _of course _the very _first thing _you do, when you find out you're about to be _tested on your obedience… _is to look me in the fucking eye, like the _stupid useless _little _fuck-up _that you are!" _

_Crowley flinched away from him, closing his eyes, letting his words out in a breathless, shaky hiss. _

"_I-I'm s-s-sorry, master, I'm sorry…" _

_Any other day, Gabriel might have tolerated it. He usually did. Crowley _should _be sorry, he _should _recognize when he'd fucked up. But today - today, he couldn't afford to be the slightest bit tolerant. _

_The rules had to be clear. And they had to be obeyed. _

_He turned on Crowley and smacked him, hard, across the face, so hard that his hand throbbed after. He ignored it and reached down, snatching a handful of Crowley's hair and viciously jerking him up higher onto his knees, leaning down into his face. _

"_You _do not speak _unless I _tell _you to!" he snarled. _

_Crowley nodded desperately, his teeth biting into his already bleeding lip to stifle a choked, pleading whimper. He was clearly very confused, and very scared - and Gabriel really couldn't blame him. He'd sort of thrown the whole testing thing at Crowley without any warning, and was deliberately behaving erratically enough to keep Crowley off balance, to _keep _him scared - because he had to understand how vitally important this was. _

_He had to understand - they had to _get this right_. _

_Gabriel lowered his voice as he crouched down in front of Crowley again, his fist tangled in the demon's hair holding his face inches from Gabriel's as he spoke to him with warning, measured words. _

"_You do not look an angel in the eyes. You do not speak without permission. Do not pull away when I touch you. Or when _they _touch you. You do _every single _little thing you are told to do, and if you forget the rules, Crowley, if you _fuck this up… _do you know what happens then?" _

_Crowley shook his head what little he could in Gabriel's wrenching grasp, his wide eyes desperately focused on the front of Gabriel's shirt. _

"_They'll say you've failed your training," Gabriel explained, softer now, almost patient. He eased his hand in Crowley's hair, choosing instead to stroke gently through it. "And we'll start all over again. Right back… at the beginning…" _

_As he spoke, he traced his thumb slowly, lightly, just beneath Crowley's eye. He heard the panicked hitch of his breath, saw the tears welling up. _

_The archangel's voice was barely over a whisper. "Is that what you want?" _

"_N-no, master, please…" The words were almost a sob of sheer terror. "Please, don't, I'll do whatever you say…"_

"_Oh, you'll do that no matter what I do," Gabriel snapped, tightening his hand in Crowley's hair again, dragging his head back. "And you'll do whatever _they _say, too." He made his voice very soft, even as he twisted his fist in Crowley's hair until he whimpered with pain. "But… if it comes to a choice. What they say… or what _I _say…"_

"_You, master," Crowley gasped out without a trace of hesitation, in a desperate rush. "I-I'll do what you say." _

_And yeah, that felt pretty damn good… but Gabriel wasn't sure yet that he'd made his point. Just in case his meaning wasn't clear, he hauled Crowley in closer, sliding his free hand around him to touch his mark through the black shirt Crowley now wore - smiling at the way Crowley just _crumpled _under the touch, his shoulders drawn in and quaking, his expression taut with terror. _

_Gabriel leaned in until Crowley's disheveled hair brushed against his lips as he spoke, his voice a low, warning growl in the demon's ear. "You don't tell them… about this." He paused a moment, then slid his hand slowly down across the coarse black denim that covered Crowley's ass, gripping the back of his thigh and jerking him in closer. "You don't tell them…" _

"_I won't," Crowley whispered, breathless, pleading. "I s-swear I won't, master… _please…" _The last word was a choked sob. _

_Gabriel had to admit, if only to himself - perhaps he was pushing Crowley a _little _hard. _

"_Shhh," he soothed him. His hand in Crowley's hair went gentle again, fingers against his scalp caressing away the sting, his other hand rising to cradle the side of Crowley's face. "I know you won't. I know you're gonna be good for me, aren't you?" _

_Crowley nodded, tears streaking his face to mingle with the blood smeared at the corner of his mouth, running down his chin. Already a bruise was beginning to form, high on his cheek, where Gabriel had slapped him. _

"_The best you've _ever _been for me…"_

_Crowley nodded again, his breath shallow and shaky, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. _

"_Good," Gabriel reassured him, drawing Crowley's head down to press a kiss to his forehead. "That's very good, sweetheart…" He kept gently stroking Crowley's hair, as his other hand moved to pass carefully across Crowley's face, healing away the damage he'd just done. _

_It needed to look as if Crowley obeyed without being beaten into it. _

_To be fair… he usually did. _

_He allowed Crowley a few moments to regain his composure. He wanted him off balance enough to be too scared to dare cross his master - but not so off balance that he would make some anxious mistake and fail the test. _

_He led Crowley out of his cell, softly snapping his fingers out of Crowley's eyeline and restarting time just as they started down the hall. He ushered Crowley past him into a large, empty room, where Crowley slid to his knees without being told… his submissive stance perfect: head bowed, shoulders back, wrists crossed behind his back. Gabriel allowed them both the brief reassurance of a gentle hand at the back of Crowley's head, stroking his hair for just a moment - until he heard the footsteps of several angels approaching. _

_Michael, and two others - Hael and Remiel, two underlings whose names Gabriel wouldn't have even remembered if they hadn't been chosen to be on this special project committee with him, by Michael herself. _

"_Gabriel," Michael greeted him with a nod, and he nodded in return, before glancing down at Crowley. _

_His eyes were closed, and he was visibly trembling, but he maintained the required pose, quiet and submissive. The three angels circled the kneeling demon, looking him over closely, and Gabriel fought back the possessive impulse he felt to move between them and Crowley. That unfamiliar nervous feeling was in full force by this point… the irrational fear that this would result in their taking Crowley away from him. _

_Irrational. It was, he knew. Because Crowley was going to do well. _

_And he _did _do well. _

_He followed the simple orders given to him without hesitation - standing when instructed to do so, crossing the room, raising his arms, his wings, turning, kneeling again - all so that the rest of the committee could more closely inspect him. Gabriel was fairly certain that they were looking for signs of recent injury, and was very glad he'd chosen to heal him. _

_Recent injury would be an indication that Crowley was still requiring punishment in order to be obedient. And he wasn't, not anymore. _

_These days, the demon's punishment was usually solely for Gabriel's pleasure. _

_Once Crowley was kneeling in position again, Michael addressed him directly. _

"_What are you, Crowley?" _

_Crowley blinked, looking a little confused, and a lot terrified. He swallowed slowly, clearly scared of getting the wrong answer. The question _did _seem painfully obvious. His voice was very soft, uncertain, a little hoarse from disuse. _

"_I'm - a demon?" _

_Gabriel wanted to slap him. _

Stupid little whore…

_Michael was patient. "Yes, but here, in Heaven - what are you, specifically?" _

_Crowley drew in a soft, shaky breath, his eyes focused on the floor at her feet as he tried again. "I'm a prisoner," he said, then shook his head a little, correcting, "A - a slave." _

Finally _he got it right. Gabriel controlled the release of his own sigh, disguising his relief. _

"_Whose slave?" Michael persisted. _

_Crowley glanced up at Gabriel for just an instant, not quite reaching his eyes - and Gabriel's heart clenched. If Crowley said his name, he'd be taken from him for sure. But then Crowley refocused his gaze on Michael's pristine sensible heels and answered in a soft, humble tone._

"_Heaven's." _

Yes. Good boy.

"_As you can see, he's been very well trained," Gabriel remarked, not bothering to disguise the note of pride in his voice. "He'll do whatever he's told." _

"_He's hardly been given anything challenging as of yet," Michael pointed out mildly. _

_Gabriel grinned. "Watch this." _

_He took out the blessed blade from his inside coat pocket, the one he'd used on Crowley countless times. He noted the way Crowley's eyes focused on it, and he tensed just slightly, but didn't move, didn't resist in any way as Gabriel approached him. The archangel pushed lightly on Crowley's forehead with two fingers, and Crowley easily moved with the motion, obediently tilting his head back and exposing his throat. _

"_Be still," Gabriel ordered. "Do not move." _

_He turned away a little, toying with the blade in his hands - and then abruptly spun back around toward Crowley, extending his arm with the blade poised to strike in his hand. He didn't halt the motion until the edge of the blade was a bare fraction of an inch from Crowley's throat._

_Crowley never even flinched. _

_Gabriel felt a rush of pride, and something akin to affection. _

_Crowley was _nailing _this. He was perfectly good and obedient and submissive, perfectly…_

_Well, he was _perfect_. _

_Feeling more than a little generous, Gabriel wanted to give him a little bit of praise, some encouragement that he was doing well - but he knew that he couldn't, not in front of the rest of the committee. _

"_I'm not sure that's so impressive, Gabriel," Michael remarked with a faint smile. "He may have known you wouldn't actually do it - and that he'd be punished if he disobeyed. Simple avoidance of pain and punishment is nothing more than the natural reaction of any intelligent creature." _

_Gabriel nodded slowly. She had a point. He thought quickly; how could he prove that this was more than that - that Crowley would literally do _anything _Gabriel commanded? His mind went back to a recent memory, one he'd played over in his mind repeatedly since creating it. _

_Crowley's hands, seared and trembling but forcing themselves to respond in spite of the pain - taking up blessed chains and obediently attaching them to his sensitive, vulnerable wings - at Gabriel's command. He smiled a little, allowing himself a moment's satisfaction in the memory - but more in what it meant for this moment. _

_This would work. _

_He turned toward Crowley again. "Hold out your hand." _

_Crowley obeyed without hesitation, without lifting his head, holding out his right hand, while keeping the left still in position behind his back. Gabriel turned the dagger and placed the hilt in Crowley's hand. Crowley visibly startled a little, blinking down at it, swallowing slowly - but he didn't look up at Gabriel's face, kept his eyes locked onto it, even when Gabriel crouched down low to face him. _

"_Use it," he commanded, taking Crowley's left wrist and pulling it around so that it was extended as well, then dragging a single finger in a diagonal line across Crowley's forearm. "Right here." _

_Crowley's breath hitched a little. _

_Michael frowned. "The collar will…"_

"_He knows exactly what the collar will do." Gabriel's tone was mild, his eyes locked onto Crowley. He knew Crowley would not miss the subtle underlying note of warning in his words. _

_Crowley drew in a shaky breath, his hand flexing around the handle of the blade. He lifted it above his left arm, biting his lip - then closed his eyes, and plunged it downward in a smooth, straight line. Blood flowed from the wound immediately - a moment before the collar fired. Crowley's entire body spasmed, and he dropped the blade, barely managing to stifle a moan of pain as he raised both shaking hands as if to cover his throbbing head. _

_Gabriel grabbed his right wrist, pulled it down away from his face before letting it go, his voice hard and unyielding._

"_Pick it up." _

_Crowley fumbled blindly for the blade on the floor in front of him before finding it and taking it up again, though his hand was shaking almost too hard to hold it, blood still spilling from the cut on his arm onto the white tile. _

"_Again," Gabriel ordered, allowing himself a slight smile. "Deeper." _

_Crowley drew in a shaky breath, wincing, but nodding wearily through the pain, positioning the blade over his left arm again. He made a second cut next to the first, quite a bit deeper, but jagged and crossing over the first cut due to the violent tremors still wracking his body from the collar - which was still sending pulse after pulse of agonizing punishment through the demon's body._

_Gabriel glanced up at Michael to see that she looked dismayed, slightly horrified - but definitely impressed. _

_He'd made his point, Gabriel decided, taking in the expressions on the faces of the other angels as well. It was time to end this spectacle, before the distaste they felt could begin to outweigh the positive impression made by Crowley's obedience. He reached for the blade, and Crowley's hand immediately fell open, instantly relinquishing it. _

_The moment the archangel touched it, the blade became clean, and Gabriel tucked it away into his coat again. "Very good," he said softly. He reached out to grasp Crowley's bloodied left arm, and Crowley yielded easily to his touch, pliant and malleable as Gabriel passed his other hand over the wound, and it vanished away. "Back in position," Gabriel ordered quietly as he released Crowley's arm. _

_Weary, shaking with the effort through the pain, Crowley straightened up on his knees, bowing his head and putting both arms behind his back again, wrists crossed. Silent tears were flowing from his eyes, dropping to mingle with the blood on the tile. Gabriel took a moment to wave his hand over the mess, and every trace of red vanished as well. _

_Finally, Gabriel reached for the collar, adjusting the setting and turning it back to 02. _

"_Thank you," Crowley whispered - then immediately cringed a little, closing his eyes and biting his lip. He clearly wasn't sure if he should have spoken or not. _

_Gabriel wasn't really sure, either. _

_He glanced warily up at the observing angels. None of them seemed to have noticed Crowley's brief lapse; he wasn't certain any of them knew the exact rules he'd been imposing on the demon, anyway. All three of them just seemed impressed by Crowley's unfailing obedience. _

_Michael slowly approached Crowley, moving to stand in front of him, and Gabriel rose to his feet again and moved away to allow her access. She took his place, crouched down facing Crowley. He glanced up just a little, not meeting her eyes, swallowing slowly. _

"_Very impressive," Michael observed, her tone mild and reassuring. _

_Gabriel didn't answer; he knew she was talking to Crowley. _

_She'd never have used such a gentle tone with _him_. _

_Crowley was a demon. A lesser being, an asset to be used. Michael was by no means above hurting him or allowing him to be hurt, when and if she felt it was necessary. But Crowley had performed perfectly thus far - perfect obedience, despite the obvious agony that was only just now visibly fading away. His huge golden eyes were wide and fearful, his demeanor utterly submissive, his breath shallow and shaky as he waited for her judgment. _

_Gabriel wasn't surprised if she felt a certain sympathy toward him._

"_You've done very well, Crowley," Michael said quietly. "Followed every command of your keeper, immediately and without question."_

_Crowley hesitated a moment, visibly uncertain as to whether or not he should respond. At last he ventured a halting, cautious, "Y-yes. Yes… ma'am." _

_Michael was silent for a moment, looking him over, taking him in with watchful eyes that settled on his face when she spoke again, softly. _

"_And what of the angel Aziraphale? Tell me of your dealings with _him_." _

_Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw clenching as his heart sank. _

And here's where it all goes to shit…

_Crowley's trembling - almost completely subsided from the painful test of his obedience - began again, his shoulders falling as he glanced up at Gabriel, meeting his eyes for just an instant, his own filled with panic and despair. Gabriel held his gaze, knowing that he could read the subtle warning there, meant only for his perception - also knowing that it would make no difference. _

_Crowley was going to fuck this all up, right now. Everything Gabriel had been working for. He was going to continue to lie about his relationship with Aziraphale, as he'd been doing from day one, and ruin this whole project. _

_And when he was done doing that - Gabriel was going to make him very, _very _sorry for it. _

_Crowley dropped his gaze, a convulsive swallow in his throat as he closed his eyes. As he spoke in a voice barely over a whisper, he slowly shrank in on himself, already braced for inevitable punishment. _

"_I-I attempted to s-seduce him away from Heaven. He - resisted my temptation and remained a - a loyal angel. He is - my adversary. Nothing more." _

_He said it like he'd memorized it._

_Gabriel wanted to choke the breath out of his slave, wanted to slap the lying words right off his lips. His hands itched to deliver the consequences for Crowley's act of meek defiance. But he couldn't. Not yet. _

_Michael gave Crowley a pensive look - skeptical, perhaps a little disappointed. "I see." She stood up again and moved away from Crowley, toward the door. "Gabriel, a word?" _

_Gabriel followed her and the other angels out of the room, closing the door behind them and leaving Crowley there on his knees. Gabriel knew the demon wouldn't even _think _of moving at this point. He'd be working very hard at doing everything in his power to keep from further pissing Gabriel off. _

Too late. Nothing's gonna save you now, sweetheart…

_He'd actually been feeling _proud _of him. Considering whether or not Crowley might have just earned himself an _actual reward_, perhaps even one without a catch this time. His performance had been flawless - until he'd thrown it all away. _

_For _Aziraphale_. _

_Aziraphale's name, as always, a curse on the whole proceedings, a splash of icy water in Gabriel's face - shattering the illusion that Crowley was truly broken, truly _his _\- because he wasn't, was he? Couldn't possibly be, as long as Aziraphale remained in his memory, a bastion of security and hope that Crowley clung to, even now, after all this time. _

_Gabriel's mark, Crowley's training into nearly flawless submission and obedience - meaningless, the very moment that Aziraphale's name was spoken._

_Gabriel was only mildly surprised to find that Michael had a very different take on the situation. _

"_I have to say, you've made remarkable progress with him in such a short time," she said. "It's only been a few weeks, and he's very nearly ready." _

_Gabriel gave her a bright smile. Of course, from _her _perspective it looked good - her perspective being that Crowley had only been Heaven's captive for a month, and was already this close to full obedience. _

_Gabriel knew better. _

"_He's still stubbornly clinging to that _one lie_, though." He shook his head with a self-deprecating little grimace. Better to acknowledge his one point of obvious failure before she did. _

_Michael shrugged a little with a thoughtful smile. "Maybe not," she pointed out. "Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe Aziraphale _did _resist his temptation. Which would make this whole exercise even more promising. I mean, if that is actually the case… if he's telling the truth, then… he's not _almost _ready, he _is _ready." _

"_Maybe," Gabriel conceded with a smile, accepting her praise for a job well done. _

_He knew better. He'd seen Crowley's panic in the face of a threat to Aziraphale… seen his tears, heard him _beg _Gabriel not to hurt his precious angel. Even when Crowley had tried _so hard _up_ _to that point to insist he felt nothing for his supposed "adversary". Aziraphale was far more than the target of a seduction to Crowley. As repulsive as the thought was to him, Gabriel had to admit the truth, if only to himself. _

_Crowley _loved _Aziraphale. _

_It hadn't been a month. It had been nearly a year - and Crowley still wasn't broken, not really. He was still refusing to turn on Aziraphale - still lying to protect him, no matter what the personal cost to himself. _

_Oh, and it was going to be high, this time. Very high indeed. _

"_Perhaps it's time to call Aziraphale in and have a chat with him," Michael suggested. "We've been waiting for Crowley to break. Well, perhaps he has. Perhaps Aziraphale is innocent in all this. We should at the very least ask him about this… seduction, of Crowley's."_

"_Maybe so," Gabriel agreed again with a thoughtful little nod. _

_Bringing _Aziraphale _in for questioning. Now _there _was an idea with potential. _

_He allowed his mind to wander just a bit, to a very satisfying image of both the rebellious demon slave _and _the treacherous angel broken and bleeding at his feet. If it was _Aziraphale _getting beaten and tortured, _Aziraphale _getting his wings nearly ripped from his body… maybe _then_, Crowley would finally tell the fucking truth. _

"_Go ahead and arrange it, if you would," Michael instructed. "Send him word that you wish to speak with him, and let me know how it goes. Good work, Gabriel," Michael graced him with a smile, and Gabriel thanked her with a single, satisfied nod… shaking himself out of his fantasies. _

_Crowley was one thing. He was a demon. Expendable. A non-person. Although there were elements of his… _interactions _with Crowley that Gabriel knew could get him into trouble if they ever came to light, for the most part… Gabriel could do as he pleased with a demon slave. _

_For all his treachery, Aziraphale was still an angel. Gabriel would never get _anyone _to sign off on the "enhanced interrogation" of a fellow angel, over a mere, mostly unsubstantiated accusation of fraternization with the enemy. _

_He'd have to think of something else - some other way to use Aziraphale's visit to Heaven to his advantage. _

_At least Michael was pleased. _

_As far as she and the rest of the committee were concerned, the test appeared to have gone very well. Gabriel knew that he should have been happy with the results. Crowley had managed to impress the committee, rather than embarrass him in front of them. They were pleased with Gabriel; he was probably going to get a commendation out of this whole project. He should have been happy. _

_All he was, was _furious_. _

_Because Gabriel knew that Crowley was _fucking lying _\- right to Michael's face, sounding so very submissive and broken that he just _had _to be telling the truth, right? Very convincing. With a couple of brief sentences, he had managed to convince Michael that maybe Aziraphale was innocent, after all. He'd fed the committee his line of bullshit that Gabriel had been trying to shoot down for a _fucking year… _and _they bought it_. _

_Gabriel came out of the whole thing looking great. It should have felt like a win. _

_On every level that mattered to him - it wasn't. Crowley still belonged to _Aziraphale _more than to Gabriel. He was still _losing… _to _Aziraphale_. First in Crowley's heart, in his mind, every moment of every _fucking day… Aziraphale.

Not today, sweetheart… not today.

_Gabriel stopped time as soon as the committee was out of sight. _

_He didn't want any interruptions for a while. _

_When Gabriel walked back into the room, his pace carefully slow and measured, Crowley was no longer in his perfect submissive position. His arms were wrapped around his torso as if in a futile attempt to still the violent shaking of his body. He glanced up at Gabriel for just a split second, and the sheer panic in his eyes was clear before he looked away, folding himself over his knees and lowering his face all the way to the floor as the archangel neared him. _

"_Please," he sobbed out, desperate, despairing. "Please, I'm s-s-sorry…"_

_Gabriel smiled with grim satisfaction as he crouched down next to him. Crowley knew he'd fucked up. Badly. He wasn't getting out of this one without a _world _of hurt, and Gabriel was more than ready to deliver it - but he was in no hurry. _

_He was going to take his time. _

_He knelt down next to Crowley, running his hand through his hair, gentle at first, like his tone, his words slow and measured. "You know… just when I was beginning to think that _maybe… just this once…" _His fingers closed into a fist and he wrenched Crowley's head up. "... you weren't going to disappoint me." _

_He positively drank in the demon's shuddering little gasp, the way he bit back his frightened cry, the way his hand fluttered up just a little before he wrestled into submission the impulse to raise it - just to try to ease his pain, not to try to defend himself - never that, he wouldn't dare. _

"_But you _have _disappointed me, Crowley," Gabriel said softly, lowering his free hand to rest over his mark through Crowley's clothes. Crowley shook his head, pleading, as Gabriel pressed down on it - focusing his energy, his grace, on projecting a feeling of overwhelming fury, centering it in the mark, so that Crowley would believe it was the source of it. _

_It wasn't. The holy water scar on the demon's back was as useless as he was. _

_But Gabriel had no intention of ever letting Crowley know that._

_He held his hand there, combining the feelings of rage and terror with a searing, burning pain radiating from the scar, until Crowley was gasping for breath, his back arching with agony. _

"_I'm sorry," Crowley choked out, tears streaking his face. "_Please…"

"Shut up_!" Gabriel snarled, shaking him hard by the fist clenched in his disheveled hair. Crowley cringed away from his anger, his trembling lips pressed shut as he fought the urge - natural at this point - to plead for mercy. _

_Pointless. Gabriel didn't intend to show any, not this time. _

_He took a breath… steadied himself. At last he allowed the influence he was exerting over Crowley's emotions to fade, as he removed his hand from the brand, instead reaching up to stroke softly through the glistening black of Crowley's wing. He closed his eyes a moment, relishing the silken slide through his fingers, the tremor of Crowley's unabated terror just under his hand. _

"_I don't think you _are _sorry, Crowley," he remarked, mild and calm again. "Or we wouldn't keep coming back to this same exact problem… over and over again. Would we?" _

_Crowley just cried hopelessly. He knew he couldn't make it right, couldn't fix this. _

_Or rather, he _wouldn't_. _

"_Just when it seems like you're doing so well… just when I'm ready to tell them all how good you are… what a perfectly obedient, well-trained little slave… how _proud of you _I am…" Gabriel raised his voice, allowing his bitter resentment and disgust to seep into his words and enjoying how Crowley shuddered, head bowed with shame. "... you ungrateful little whore, you turn around and _humiliate _me, by showing _everyone _what a useless little fucking _failure _you are!" _

_Crowley flinched at that word, and Gabriel smiled, remembering the threat he'd made before the test. _

"_That's right, sweetheart," he sneered softly. "You _failed_."_

"_Please," Crowley choked out, his words quietly desperate. "Please, master, d-don't… don't take…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. _

_Gabriel traced his thumb across Crowley's cheek, wiping away a few stray tears, smiling at the way Crowley's breath just shuddered to a _stop _at the touch, so near to his eye. _

"_You know," he mused, "I haven't decided yet." His voice hardened. "I could. I most definitely could. But… I haven't decided yet..." _

_He slid his hand from the softly rustling feathers of Crowley's wing, up to the cool metal of the ring embedded in it, tracing his fingers lightly around the circle of it, smiling when Crowley's shaking intensified, and he shook his head in a panicked, wordless plea. Gabriel had successfully hit on the one thing that just might scare Crowley more than the idea of losing his sight again. Gabriel knew he remembered… that moment when his master had almost wrenched the wings from his body. _

_Maybe he would this time. He could always put them back, after._

_He leaned in close to Crowley's ear, taking great pleasure in the demon's utter collapse as he whispered, _

"_I'm going to make sure you remember, sweetheart, next time you think about crossing me… that there are still _so very many _things I can take from you." _


	32. Chapter 32

A/N - I hope the last chapter wasn't offensive in some way... I just noticed that no one commented on it at all, so I was wondering... ;)

Hope this one is more to y'all's liking ;) *hugs*

As it turned out, "_I will"_ didn't necessarily mean, "_I'm ready right now"_.

Crowley still had a lot of questions, which he posed to Aziraphale as they occurred to him over the next few days, at random times and when Aziraphale wasn't expecting it - though it was the focus of his study at the moment, and never far from his mind. He'd have been happy to enter into the bond the very moment after Crowley said yes - but he would patiently wait until all Crowley's doubts and uncertainties had been laid to rest.

He was just so happy and grateful that Crowley had said yes _at all._

It was a tremendous amount of trust to be placed in him, and Aziraphale was not oblivious to the weight of it - though he willingly welcomed it.

"It's… as _equals_, then." Crowley's words were quiet and careful as he peered at the book over Aziraphale's shoulder. "No… no difference in our roles because… you asked and I…"

"None whatsoever," Aziraphale assured him, slipping his arm around him and drawing him in close. "It was intended to be a perfect partnership of equals - as the positioning of the sigils would indicate. You retain your autonomy and authority over your own self, as I do mine, and… any decisions that might hold weight for both of us… we work out together."

Crowley's arm was slung casually across the back of the sofa, and he lifted one hand, slowly carding through Aziraphale's curls in a way that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate, as he rested his head against Aziraphale's shoulder and snuggled in a little closer.

Aziraphale _did_ hope Crowley wasn't about to ask him any more complicated questions _just now_.

Or stop what he was doing. Stopping that would be even _more_ unpleasant.

"So… you could do the inviting, then. If you wanted," Crowley concluded softly.

Aziraphale frowned, troubled just a little at the idea, even through the soft haze of pleasure that was slowly enveloping him. "Well, at this point, no. As I've already - proposed the union in the first place," he explained, and if his words were a little slower than usual, a little less clear, he could hardly be held responsible for that, with Crowley's long, elegant fingers in his hair and the soft heat of his breath against his throat . "Equals. Equal… autonomy and all that. I… made the first move, so to speak. The next is yours to make. I don't get… all the moves…"

Crowley was quiet for a long moment as he took that in, and when at last he spoke, he sounded uncertain, perhaps even a little disappointed. "Right. Makes sense." He fell silent again for a while before he ventured at last, "So… how am I supposed to… invite you into my bed... when it's straight across London and we can't safely leave this building?"

It _was_ a bit of a problem.

Aziraphale considered for a moment. "I suppose I could just… give you mine."

Crowley's fingers stilled in surprise.

Aziraphale immediately regretted making such a surprising suggestion.

"You can't do that," Crowley said finally, his voice hushed, doubtful. "It's yours."

"Yes, it's _mine_," Aziraphale agreed. "Which is precisely why I may do with it as I wish, and if I wish to give it to _you_…"

"But… this is your home, and there's just the one, and where would _you_ sleep…?"

Aziraphale turned in toward Crowley, laying his free hand at his demon's waist, meeting his troubled gaze with a warm, reassuring smile. "Point number one - this is your home, too, Crowley, and it has been for quite some time now, if you'll have it. Point number two - you cannot convince me that you'd be unwilling to share…"

Even before the words had fully left his lips, Aziraphale was already rethinking them, alarmed at his own presumption, given Crowley's recent experiences. He looked away quickly, his cheeks flushed as he hurried to take it back, "But of course it would be well within your rights to refuse to share, and if you don't wish to share, then obviously I would..."

"_Angel_." Crowley's voice was low and warm, and Aziraphale looked up with some trepidation, to see affectionate amusement in his eyes. Crowley pressed a gentle hand to Aziraphale's cheek and leaned in to softly kiss his lips before drawing back and holding his gaze. "I wish to share _everything_ with you."

Aziraphale knew he was beaming, fairly sparkling with the joy Crowley's words brought him. He felt like it was just radiating out of him, he was so full with it… if the happy, adoring smile that broke out on Crowley's face was any indication.

A little flustered, Aziraphale tried to remember his place and go on. "Right… yes, then, that's… point number two. And… point number three…" He leaned in to return the light, chaste kiss Crowley had given him, not drawing back, enjoying the closeness as he concluded, "I _don't_ sleep, Crowley. Not unless I'm with you. The only use I _have_ for the bed is with you, so I don't see any problem with…"

Aziraphale stopped abruptly, feeling that hot flush suffuse him again. "I didn't mean that I only wanted… well, what I meant was…"

Crowley's low, soft laugh stopped his useless efforts, and he bowed his head in defeat, allowing himself a little smile as he rolled his eyes at his own flustered attempt.

"I seem to be having… some difficulty with my words at the moment."

"Yes," Crowley agreed with a very serious frown, nodding emphatically as he moved in closer, taking almost all of the distance that remained between them. His lips brushed Aziraphale's as he concluded, hushed and knowing, "_Far_ too many words…"

His hand pushed a little at Aziraphale's shoulder, and Aziraphale scooted further down the sofa until he was lying down with his head on the armrest, Crowley's body a comfortable weight on top of him, his mouth warm and soft... slow, languid kisses that tasted of sweet tea and woodsmoke.

A little breathless, at last, Aziraphale pressed gently at Crowley's chest, and Crowley immediately backed off, eyes wide and searching his face. Aziraphale smiled to reassure him… a lazy, satisfied smile, the heady rush of Crowley's nearness and warmth making it no easier to find words now than it had been before.

Somehow, Aziraphale managed it.

"The bed," he said softly. "It's yours." Crowley's brow creased slightly, hesitantly, and his lips parted as if to speak. When he said nothing, Aziraphale continued, "Like anything else in this home." His voice grew yet softer, and he dropped his gaze for a moment, inexplicably self-conscious, before looking up at Crowley again, earnest. "Like _me_. It's yours."

The tension in Crowley's expression just melted away, his eyes going soft and stricken. With a shaky little hitch of breath, he lowered his face into Aziraphale's chest, his hand next to it flexing in Aziraphale's shirt. Aziraphale tenderly cupped the back of his head, fingers soothingly trailing through his hair as he wrapped his other arm around Crowley's back and held him until he no longer felt quite so overwhelmed.

"How will it work, exactly?"

Crowley's voice was hushed and cautious, in the stillness of their bedroom. They lay together on top of the blankets, in soft night clothes, facing each other. Aziraphale's arm lay across the pillow, Crowley's head resting against it. The lights were off, except for the warm glow of Crowley's night-light, held between them in his hands. His gaze was focused on it as he spoke.

Aziraphale's gaze was focused on the entrancing shimmer of light, the reflection of his own grace in Crowley's golden eyes.

Crowley looked up at him then, solemn and intent, and Aziraphale nearly lost his breath.

"The ritual," Crowley clarified softly. "How - how will we do it?"

The faint note of anxiety belied by his careful calm drew Aziraphale's attention away from his distraction, and he reached out a gentle hand to rest at Crowley's waist. He meant it to be reassuring, but Crowley looked away and flinched a little, and Aziraphale cringed inwardly at his own carelessness. Crowley's fearful, troubled thoughts were no doubt centered around his traumatic memories of a very similar ritual to the one they were discussing.

_But it _won't _be… I won't _let _it be…_

Aziraphale immediately withdrew his hand, but Crowley let go of his light with one hand in order to catch Aziraphale's and firmly put it back, meeting Aziraphale's gaze again with a knowing, grim little smile.

"'S not you, angel," he whispered.

"I know," Aziraphale replied softly.

"I - don't want you to - not touch me."

"All right." Aziraphale smiled, taking Crowley's hand and drawing it up to his lips.

Crowley looked down at the light between them again, swallowing slowly. "I just need to - to know. Exactly. How it will work, what we'll do. So I can - be ready."

Aziraphale nodded slowly, carefully weighing his words, as he took Crowley's hand and laid it against his own side, then aligned his own arm with it, carefully resting his hand at Crowley's waist again and shifting in a little closer.

"First of all," he said quietly, his own eyes falling on the light between them. "We won't do anything at all, until you are certain that you _are_… ready. That's why I'm very glad that the invitation part of all this falls to you, my love. Because - it means that none of this happens, until _you decide_ that it's going to happen."

"I've decided," Crowley said urgently, looking up at Aziraphale with anxious eyes. "I have. It's going to happen. It's just…" He looked away again, biting at the corner of his lip.

"I know." Aziraphale traced the hem of Crowley's black cotton sleep pants with his thumb. "I'll wait as long as you need, my darling. There is no hurry." He was quiet for a moment. "When you… make the invitation, I'll join you, here… and… we'll do as we've done countless times before. We'll make love to each other. Absolutely nothing will happen that you don't wish to happen, and… when we've finished, we'll…" He smiled a little at the very human terminology that was still the best he could think of to describe the next step of the ritual. "... exchange vows."

Crowley gazed at the light in his hand, his fingers anxiously picking at Aziraphale's shirt. "The words I said." He hesitated a moment before amending, "He _made_ me say."

The angel couldn't suppress an affectionate smile. It was such a very small victory - that subtle distinction in word choice - but Aziraphale was unspeakably proud of him.

"Not exactly," he assured Crowley softly, shaking his head a little when Crowley looked up at him in surprise. "I've researched it, and… they need not be any particular set of words. They need only - express a certain sentiment. That - from that moment on, you and I - belong to each other. That we _choose_… each other. The bond and its effects will be the same, regardless of the specific words we use."

Crowley let out a deep breath, and he shifted a little closer to Aziraphale. "Not those words," he breathed out in relief, closing his eyes and resting his head against Aziraphale's arm.

"Not those words," Aziraphale echoed, his hand curling around Crowley's head to gently brush his hair back away from his face. "Whatever words you choose."

Crowley nodded slowly. "And then?" he whispered.

"And then, the marks will appear on both of us… right here…" He raised his hand from Crowley's waist to rest lightly over his heart. "And we'll know that it's… complete. Valid. We'll be joined eternally. 'Two become one flesh'. 'Whither thou goest, I will go,' and all that goes along with that..."

Crowley grimaced a little. "Could be a bit suffocating, that. Might get sick of me following you around _everywhere_…"

They'd discussed this already - Aziraphale's theory that two supernatural entities bonded in such a way could not be separated by dimensions. That if Crowley were to be summoned back to Hell, or Aziraphale called to Heaven, the other would come along for the ride. Crowley had immediately pointed out how very inconvenient that could be.

Aziraphale knew there were possible downsides to such a situation, but ultimately, found it immensely comforting - the idea that if anyone ever tried to take Crowley again, they'd get Aziraphale along with him.

_I could have helped him… he wouldn't have been alone…_

"I could _never _get sick of you," Aziraphale assured him with a warm, teasing smile. "And you'll never be rid of me."

Crowley didn't smile - just nodded again, swallowing slowly. He took a breath, hesitated - then whispered, "And… if the marks _don't _appear? If - She doesn't…"

The thought had crossed Aziraphale's mind.

He wasn't about to tell _Crowley_ that.

He kept his tone even and reassuring as he told Crowley the same thing he'd been telling himself since the idea had first occurred to him.

"If it doesn't work… if we perform the ritual and say the words, and no marks appear… then you and I will continue on as we've done for the past fourteen years. The fact that we've… made those promises… chosen each other… will not change. Not unless the day comes when you want it to."

"But what if there's consequences?" Crowley persisted, looking up at Aziraphale with troubled eyes. "What if… you're punished, for… corrupting the ritual? For _trying_… with _me_…"

"_That won't happen_." Of that, Aziraphale was certain. "Gabriel most certainly corrupted the ritual in ways that you and I could never…" Crowley flinched, and Aziraphale cut himself off abruptly, taking a breath and gaining control of the anger in his voice. "His ritual didn't work, but he hasn't been punished for what he did. Yet. Therefore, I have to conclude that if you and I attempt this bond… in all sincerity and motivated by love… the _absolute worst_ that will happen is… well, _nothing_."

"You're angry," Crowley observed softly.

Aziraphale frowned. "Well, yes, of course I'm…"

"With _Her_."

Aziraphale blinked, his heart lurching with surprise and instinctive alarm. He had to take a moment to consider the charge, something he hadn't quite allowed himself to realize just yet; but he thought about it… and then he nodded once, slowly. It wasn't as if lies would hide the truth from Her - if She happened to be paying attention at all at this point.

"Yes." He was quiet a moment. "I must admit to some rather… disrespectful, disloyal feelings toward Her of late. And - I'm still here. Still unpunished. I've defied an archangel, and right at this moment I'm confessing - doubt, and disloyalty to Her." He met Crowley's wide, anxious eyes with a sad little smile. "Those things go ignored - and yet, I'd be punished… for saying _one more time _that I love you? That I _choose_ you?"

Crowley closed his eyes, lowering his head, and Aziraphale gently tilted his head up again.

"_I choose you_," he repeated, his heart aching with the tears that welled in Crowley's wondering eyes. "Whether or not this ritual works. And - I do believe that it will." He wasn't certain, but his hope was honest. "At its heart, with its original intention, this sort of bond has always been a celebration of love." He slid his thumb across Crowley's cheek, catching his tears and brushing them away. "And _that_ is something you and I are _very_ good at."

Crowley lowered his eyes again for a moment, and Aziraphale could feel the weight of his silence, even before he drew in a soft, shaky breath, his lips parted to speak. Aziraphale waited, and at last Crowley looked up at him again through lowered lashes.

"His… his ritual. It - _did_ work. A little. I think."

Aziraphale's stomach lurched, but he kept his tone carefully neutral. "How do you mean?"

Crowley looked down again, self-conscious. "He, uh…" His voice was hushed, almost guilty. "He could… use the mark, to - to make me - feel things. What he was feeling. What he - wanted me to feel."

Aziraphale took that in, thinking. "How would he do this?" Crowley flinched a little, and Aziraphale gently touched his hair, soothing him. "I'm sorry, my love," he said softly.

Crowley nodded, acknowledging both Aziraphale's regret, and the necessity of his question. "He'd… touch the mark. And - let me feel how - angry he was with me. How much he intended to - to hurt me." He clutched the night-light to his chest, and Aziraphale moved closer to him, close enough that the light was all that separated them. Crowley tossed it down the bed and willingly moved into Aziraphale's embrace, hiding his face against him as the angel wrapped both arms around him and held him close. "It - it hurt when he did it. _Everywhere_. All I could feel was… his rage coming over me… overwhelming me… and I'd be… _so scared_…" He cleared his throat, his words still coming out a little husky. "Or… sometimes, he'd let me feel it, if he was… pleased with me. It'd be… peaceful. Calming. If I was afraid, it'd… go away." He paused. "That… didn't happen as often."

Aziraphale didn't say anything for a little while, willfully suppressing the anger he felt at Crowley's soft confession - and the rising realization of exactly what it was that Gabriel had done.

"Crowley," he began carefully. "I'm… not quite certain that what he was doing… had anything at all to do with that mark."

Crowley raised his head to look up at him sharply. "What? Of course it did, he'd touch it and I'd feel - whatever he wanted. Sharing of thoughts, feelings, like… like your book says happens when two angels are bonded..."

"Like _we've_ done. For decades."

Crowley fell silent, staring up at Aziraphale in dismay.

"Well, no, _not_ like we've done," Aziraphale amended softly. "I know it wasn't at all the same, it's just… we've been able to share with each other… spiritually, mentally, for a very long time. Without the benefit of any official bond," he pointed out. "Spiritual beings have an empathic element to their very nature. I'm fairly certain most angels and demons could do the same, if they - if they chose to hone the skill. If they were - sensitive enough. It's why we've always been so careful. Never in public. Never where we might be overheard."

Crowley nodded slowly, but his expression was one of deep confusion.

"Gabriel… well, he's… historically speaking… particularly skilled in the area of… perhaps not emotional _perception_, but… emotional _manipulation_." He smiled sadly. "He's Her Messenger. How many times do you think he's had to calm panicking shepherds, or _literally_ put the fear of God into some wrongdoer?"

Crowley flinched a little, looking away, and Aziraphale hugged him gently, kissing his temple.

"Not you, darling," he whispered. "You were never deserving of such a thing."

Crowley didn't argue it, but Aziraphale was sure that he remained unconvinced. That particular lie was buried too deeply beneath his skin to be quickly uprooted.

They'd have time.

"He's an archangel," Aziraphale pointed out unnecessarily. "So what might be a natural, but dormant skill in an ordinary angel… in him, is magnified. It's a skill that's natural to his role and his station - and he's spent millennia honing it, becoming better and better at it." He paused, unable to keep a note of anger and disgust from his voice as he concluded, "But he _never_ had the right or authority to use it like _this_."

"He… can _make_ people feel… what he _wants_ them to feel…" Crowley whispered. "He just… he touched the mark, because… he wanted me to _believe_ that it was…"

"Real." Aziraphale nodded, meeting Crowley's wide, upturned eyes with a cool, tight smile. "And not the vile, perverse _counterfeit_ that it actually was."

Crowley blinked, taking it in - and then his mouth quivered, his eyes welling as he lowered his head again. "I'm so _stupid_," he sighed, the miserable words muffled against Aziraphale's shirt. "I believed it. I thought it was real…"

"You're not, how could you have known?" Aziraphale reassured him, cradling his head to his chest and running a gentle hand up and down his back. "He was the only source of information you had. How were you to believe anything else?"

"You're sure?" Crowley looked up at him again, tearful eyes shining in the faint glow of the light lying on the mattress at their feet. "It's - _completely fake_?" To Aziraphale's relief, the shame of being deceived seemed to have been swallowed up in hope.

"Yes, my love," Aziraphale promised.

"He said…" Crowley's breath caught, and he swallowed hard, blinking away his tears. "He said… even if I… discorporated, it'd - it'd come back. Forever."

"_No_." Aziraphale's tone was fierce, and Crowley looked up at him again, searching his eyes. "That's a _lie_." His voice softened a little at Crowley's expression, and he raised a hand to touch his face. "It's a _scar_. Nothing more. I wish I could heal it away, along with all the other holy water scars he left… but just like those other scars… it only marks your physical form, Crowley. It doesn't touch your _soul_."

Crowley's mouth twisted, his gaze dropping, and Aziraphale knew the doubts that met that statement, without Crowley's having to speak them. His heart ached at the realization that in this case, the dark little part of Crowley's mind that kept reminding him of all the ways he was broken, all the ways he'd never be the same… _had a point_.

He'd seen the moment when Gabriel had inflicted that... _abomination_ upon Crowley. He knew that the memory of it would never leave him, even if by some miracle that was beyond his own power, the scar could be removed. He held Crowley close as he hid his face again, closing his own eyes against the burning of tears as he felt Crowley's shoulders heave with silent sobs, but - like his words - it didn't feel like enough.

It _wasn't_. He could do more.

Aziraphale extended his wings, wrapping them around Crowley, enveloping him in his protective love and reassurance - and though Crowley kept his own wings hidden, Aziraphale could feel his emotions flowing back to him, mingling with his own in an endless circuit. And he was surprised to find that, mingled with the grief and shame was a powerful sense of _relief_.

_It isn't real, it was a lie, it isn't real..._

Aziraphale could have wept with relief, himself, at the words he heard whispered from Crowley's mind to his own, and he whispered, back, _No, it isn't… all lies, my love, it was never real…_

_I'm not his… _

And Aziraphale _did _weep, then, tears falling from his eyes into Crowley's hair, as Crowley's shaking hands rose behind him to grasp at his back and pull him desperately closer.

_You're not, darling, you're not… _

Aziraphale kissed him, held him, fiercely surrounded him with the love that he knew held more power than any act of justice he could ever carry out on his love's behalf.

_You never were._


	33. Chapter 33

_Crowley never saw his comfortable room with its soft, warm bed again._

_As promised, Gabriel dragged him back to the cold, dark cell where his ordeal had begun, throwing him down on the floor. The meager protection of his clothing was gone with a wave of the archangel's hand. Gabriel immediately took out the blessed whip that hadn't touched Crowley's body in months, and by the time the archangel was finally finished, breathless with furious exertion... the stone floor was dark with Crowley's blood. _

"_What do you say?" he demanded of Crowley, yanking his head up by the hair. _

_Barely able to breathe for the overwhelming agony and terror, Crowley desperately choked out, "I'm... s-sorry…" _

"Wrong_." Gabriel backhanded him and knocked him back down to the floor. Kicking him hard in the ribs for good measure, he ordered, low and menacing, "Try again." _

_Confused, helpless, Crowley whispered, "Th-thank you?" though he couldn't imagine what he was supposed to be thankful for. _

For the lesson. You worthless, stupid whore. Can't get anything right, can you? He's teaching you to be good, teaching you so this won't keep happening...

"_Nope." Gabriel's fist came down across the side of his head, then grasped his hair and forced his face down against the concrete. "You say _nothing_," he snarled. "Not a _fucking word _without my permission, you useless slut. I don't want to hear a _sound _out of you." _

_Crowley nodded against his grip, biting down on his lip until he tasted blood, desperately silent. _

"_When I walk in this room… _this _is how I want to see you," Gabriel continued, shoving him down harder,scraping his cheek against the rough stone. "Your knees won't leave the ground again any time soon… face down in the dirt where it belongs… my deceptive little serpent…" His voice went dangerously soft, a cruel smile on his lips. "That's where _She _says it belongs. I've let you get away with far too much for far too long… let you forget your place. That _ends. Now_." _

_Crowley's heart sank. He'd been fairly certain he was well aware of his place. But he could feel it in the harsh grasp of Gabriel's hands, heard the uncontrolled rage in his voice. Inexplicably, impossibly… his situation had become, in a matter of seconds… _so much _worse. _

_He'd _made _it worse. _

"_And if you even _think _of looking me in the eye, sweetheart," Gabriel went on, his voice hushed and frighteningly intimate, the hand that wasn't grinding Crowley's face into the concrete sliding down his blood-slicked back, dragging cruel fingernails across the countless lashes he'd just made there. "I _will _burn out your eyes. And you'll _never _get them back. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"_

_Crowley hesitated, panic seizing him as he tried to decide whether or not he was supposed to answer. He nodded hurriedly, swallowing back a sob. _

_Gabriel let go of his hair, just long enough to slap his face mercilessly into the stone beneath it, grabbing him again an instant later and hauling him up so that their faces were inches apart. Crowley closed his eyes, desperate not to accidentally meet his master's gaze. _

"_When I ask you a question," Gabriel snarled, low and furious against Crowley's ear. "I expect an answer. Is. That. Perfectly. _Clear_." _

"_Y-yes, master," Crowley sobbed. "Yes…"_

_Gabriel's voice went soft again, his hand in Crowley's hair deceptively gentle. "Why is this happening to you, sweetheart?" _

_Crowley's heart pounded with panic, his mind racing to come up with the right answer. _

_Simple was best. _

"_Because I… I disobeyed," he replied, quiet, breathless, eyes locked onto Gabriel's blood-streaked white shirt. _

"_Whose fault is it?" Gabriel demanded. _

"_My fault," Crowley whispered hoarsely, tears slipping down his face. "I'm s-sorry…"_

"_I did not ask for your _worthless _fucking apologies!" Gabriel snapped at him, his fist twisting in Crowley's hair and jerking his head back, hard. "_Show me _that you're sorry!" _

_Gabriel threw him back down to the floor in disgust, and Crowley swiftly assumed the position he'd described, his forehead pressed hard into the stone. Gabriel stalked out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him, and Crowley flinched at the sound - but for a long time even after Gabriel had left, didn't dare move. _

_For the next several weeks, Crowley tried desperately to do as Gabriel had demanded - to show him that he was sorry, to do every little thing that was asked of him and prove that he could please his master - but it seemed that everything Crowley did was wrong. _

_Gabriel resumed his cruel, demanding tests, which now seemed to have gone from rigorously difficult to impossible - _designed _for Crowley to fail. _

"_I told you not to move!" _

_Never mind the fact that Gabriel had just slapped him out of position. _

"_Are you even _listening _to me?" _

_How Crowley was supposed to prove that he was, when he couldn't look at his master or speak a word, was beyond him. _

_One day, Gabriel expected Crowley to thank him for giving him ten fewer lashes than promised - and delivered twenty more when he kept his silence. The next, a terrified, barely breathed out "thank you" - for allowing Crowley to keep his sight after an instant's accidental eye contact - earned Crowley a brutal beating that left him barely conscious. Sometimes, a frantic apology for a mistake brought about more punishment. Other times, Gabriel was furious that Crowley had _failed _to acknowledge his mistake with an apology. _

_Crowley was confused and overwhelmed and constantly in terror of incurring his master's wrath - which was an easier thing to achieve than ever. He was utterly exhausted - a feeling that was intensified by the fact that he'd been allowed to get rather used to sleeping large portions of his days away in the soft bed Gabriel had given him. _

_But the bed was gone, now - and with it, Crowley's privilege of sleep. _

_It was difficult to rest anyway in the cell, with only cold, hard surfaces surrounding him, but his weariness overcame him, and he did fall asleep. _

_Once. _

_He awakened to the feeling of Gabriel's cruel fist tangled in his wing, twisting until he cried out - and received a sharp slap across his face in punishment. _

"_You have a nice little nap, sweetheart?" Gabriel sneered, shaking him. "I thought I made it clear how I expect to find you waiting for me." _

_Disoriented from pain and the lingering remnants of sleep, Crowley managed to stammer out a pleading apology. It wasn't enough. Gabriel turned the collar up to 09 and left Crowley there for hours. When at last he returned to lower the setting, he responded to Crowley's breathless, sobbing gratitude with a kick to his face, before grabbing his throat and slamming him into the wall. _

"_You don't need sleep," he said, as if informing a particularly stupid child of some painfully obvious fact. "You don't _get _to sleep. I catch you sleeping again… next time it goes to 10. And you know… I've been busy, lately. I might just forget to come check on you for a while." _

"_Yes, master," Crowley wept with mingled terror and relief. "I-I'm sorry…"_

_Gabriel accepted his apology that time, allowing him to collapse to the floor - where he swiftly crawled into the position that was his best guess as to what was expected of him. The rules changed from moment to moment, depending on Gabriel's mood - and never in Crowley's favor. _

_It didn't matter. It was his fault._

_If he hadn't disobeyed, if he hadn't failed the _important _test, the one before the Archangel Michael - none of these torturous smaller tests, none of these agonizing restrictions and punishments, would have been necessary. _

_He was lucky that his master hadn't taken his eyes - or his wings. _

_Though… it was a close thing. _

_The days when Gabriel _didn't _test Crowley were worse. On those days, he'd take him to the room with the chains - with a snap of his fingers; Crowley wasn't allowed to walk anywhere, anymore. Crowley would crawl to his place between the chains, and obediently fasten them to his battered wings, already in agony from the last time, and the time before that. Gabriel didn't heal him anymore, either - at least, not until the pain was so much that he didn't think any more would register at all. _

_And he couldn't have _that_, could he? He'd heal Crowley, finally, every few days - just so he could start in again, and know that Crowley would _feel _it. _

_He didn't offer to bind Crowley's wrists - and the one and only time he allowed Crowley to ask for the restraints - he refused. _

"_Maybe that's the problem, I made it too easy for you." He grabbed Crowley's bound wing, jerked him in close, voice low and threatening. "You're going to keep still all on your own. Because I'm telling you to. And because if you _don't _keep your fucking arms _down… _I'll break them for you." A cold, vicious smile. "_That _should help." _

_The first couple of sessions ended with Crowley's wings in agony... and at least one other limb broken. After that, he managed to keep from trying to touch his own wings - even if he had to dig his nails into his own sides until they _bled.

"_See?" Gabriel whispered in his ear before kissing his temple, running gentle fingers through his damp, messy hair. "You're learning." _

_Crowley wept with gratitude for the faint praise, the soft touch. _

_And amidst the relentless tests, the punishments for his failures - Gabriel continued to force himself upon him, almost daily. Crowley tried his best to submit to every violation, to not struggle or even flinch… to keep his tears silent, not even a whimper escaping his lips. _

_He tried _so hard… _and eventually, the punishments became marginally less brutal. Eventually, Gabriel began to mingle them with the barest traces of affection… a caress to ease the sting of a slap… a murmured, "good, sweetheart, that's better" after vicious threats and insults had battered his attempts at obedience into near perfection. _

_And then came the day when Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley found himself clothed once more. _

"_Congratulations. You're getting a second chance." _

_Crowley's heart sank with terror, because he knew that no matter how desperately he wanted to please his master, no matter how hard he tried to do everything right… if faced with the same test as last time, he would certainly fail again. _

_He couldn't possibly have known when he left his cell - on his feet for the first time in weeks, trembling with dread of the moment when he'd hear Aziraphale's name - that he'd be seeing his angel again within minutes._

_And he'd never return to that dark, cold cell again. _

His questions - and emotions - exhausted for the moment, Crowley fell asleep in Aziraphale's arms. Having much study still to do, Aziraphale slipped out from under his demon's sleeping form, retrieving the night light from the foot of the bed and gently wrapping Crowley's arms around it before covering him with a soft blanket.

He was still in the bedroom doorway when he felt the alarm in his mind, the warning that something supernatural was near the shop. At the same instant, he realized that he was _aware _of it, which meant that time had not stopped - which meant that whoever the visitor might be, it was unlikely to be Gabriel.

He glanced back at Crowley with concern, but the alarm did not seem to have disturbed him.

Quietly, Aziraphale made his way down to the shop, reaching the bottom of the stairs just as there was a brisk, brief knock on the locked door. He opened it, not exactly surprised to see the Archangel Michael standing there. An angel's claim of sanctuary was the sort of public, official business that was almost certainly known throughout Heaven by now.

"Hello, Aziraphale," she said with a polite, vaguely sympathetic smile.

"Hello." His own smile was cool.

"Are you going to invite me in?" she asked.

"I've no intention of it." Aziraphale's smile didn't waver.

Michael was the warrior archangel, after all. It would take little effort for her to harm him and Crowley without ever having to resort to miracles.

Her smile faded a little, and she sighed. "I just want to talk."

"Talk, then."

A small part of Aziraphale's brain recognized that only days earlier, he wouldn't have dreamt of speaking to any archangel not named Gabriel in such a manner. Now, though, everything had changed. He'd had a lot of time to think, and research, and think some more. He'd gone over every possible scenario in his head, everything he knew about the hierarchy of Heaven and its inner political workings and everything, and he'd reached a conclusion that called into question his very loyalty to - well, anyone that was not Crowley.

_Someone_ had to have _known_.

And of all the someones Aziraphale had considered - Michael was the most likely.

"All right," she agreed mildly, a slight tightness around her mouth the only sign that his curtness might have offended her. "You've claimed sanctuary - unnecessarily, I believe. I'd like to know why you feel that it _is_ necessary."

"_I'd_ like to know what _you_ know about the recent activities of the Archangel Gabriel," he countered sharply.

She frowned slightly in feigned confusion. "As it pertains to…?"

"The demon Crowley," Aziraphale snapped, impatient with her hedging. "How much do you know about what Gabriel has done to him?"

Michael sighed, looking away for a moment - and it was as clear an admission of guilt as Aziraphale needed. "The demon Crowley was taken captive by Heaven as part of a very highly classified project, Aziraphale. I'm afraid I can't tell you for what purpose."

"Because the purpose was… that you believed he would incriminate me," Aziraphale cautiously surmised.

He was surprised when she let out a soft, dark laugh. "Aziraphale, this is about _so much more_ than you."

He frowned. "But he _was _interrogated about his relationship with me."

"At first," Michael conceded with a nod. "We needed to know… where his loyalties lay. But it wasn't really about you, it was about the potential for…" She stopped, closing her eyes for a moment. "No. I'm not going to discuss this with you, Aziraphale." She looked up at him again, her eyes narrowed slightly. "But… you _do_ confirm that there _is_ a relationship to speak of."

"Yes." He held her gaze, quietly defiant. "Would you have me believe that's something Heaven will simply _excuse_?"

She was quiet for a moment. "No," she admitted at last. "Clearly your priorities, your loyalties have become… _compromised_. And I'll be honest with you, Aziraphale, that's an issue that must be addressed. But - I'm also being honest with you when I tell you that this has been about something much larger, from the very beginning, than a simple case of fraternization. And… if you're willing to turn over the demon you're harboring, then perhaps…" She waved a hand vaguely. "... a temporary demotion, a slap on the wrist for your minor offense…"

Anger flared up in Aziraphale at the very suggestion. "The sanctuary is more for his protection than for mine," he snapped. "I won't let you take him again. Are you even _aware_ of what Gabriel did to him?"

"He's a demon, Aziraphale." Michael's tone was calm, but slightly defensive, a hard, almost defiant glint in her eyes. "He hasn't got the same rights as you and I. Gabriel had a specific mission in his interactions with Crowley, and therefore he was granted certain… _liberties._"

"Ah." Aziraphale nodded, his eyes cold, jaw clenched with fury. "_Liberties _such as _rape_?"

The very words, spoken aloud, filled him with a sense of utter _revulsion_ that this was an ambassador of _Heaven_ he was speaking to - a servant of the Almighty, standing before him attempting to justify Gabriel's actions, to _excuse_ them as serving part of some higher purpose. His broken, violated faith was a stone, heavy in his stomach - an aching sense of loss that he couldn't allow himself to focus on, not now - because this wasn't about what he was losing, as this very conversation took place.

It was about what had been _stolen_ \- forcibly _ripped away_ \- from _Crowley_.

To her credit, Michael did seem genuinely stunned by Aziraphale's revelation, her eyes wide and startled and focused on his, not darting away in veiled guilt as he'd expected.

"What? No, of course not, what are you…?"

"Because that's exactly the sort of 'liberties' Gabriel took." Aziraphale watched her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her response.

"No." She frowned, shaking her head. "No, he would have… surely the demon would have _said_ something, to _someone_…"

"No, he wouldn't have," Aziraphale informed her. "Because Gabriel threatened _my life_ if Crowley were to say anything about it." He paused for a moment to allow that to sink in before continuing, coldly, quietly furious. "Just in case you're still wondering. Where his loyalties lie. They lie _with me_, and that threat was enough to ensure his silence."

Michael looked past him a little, her eyes wide and troubled - silent.

"Threatening to murder a fellow angel who's been condemned of no crime - is that also an acceptable tactic?"

At last Michael seemed to find her voice, looking Aziraphale in the eyes again, solemn. "Aziraphale, I can assure you, no such actions were in any way condoned by Heaven."

"What about the manipulation of time?" Aziraphale shot back at her, not giving her time to recover or prepare.

And she was indeed quite taken aback. "What? That's not possible."

"It is." Aziraphale was very calm, and he could see how his very certainty unsettled her. "Gabriel's taken more than a year's worth of extra time on this classified 'project' of yours - time that he's used in ways I'm quite sure were not approved. Check the data logs for that vile collar you put on Crowley, and see for yourself."

Michael was visibly upset by now. "Aziraphale, please know that I'll investigate these allegations immediately. I was not aware of any of this." She paused, hesitant. "It would be helpful to… _speak_ with the demon…"

A spark of protective indignation bloomed hot in Aziraphale's chest. Only moments earlier, she had been offering him near absolution in exchange for handing Crowley over to her. He stepped a little further into the doorway, blocking the path into the bookshop that she was physically incapable of taking anyway. His tone was cool, dangerous.

"That _will not_ happen."

Michael was quiet for a moment, nodding once in acknowledgement. Then she angled her head and nodded again, indicating something past Aziraphale, behind him in the shop.

"Don't you think perhaps that should be up to _him_?"

Aziraphale turned around, his heart racing with alarm when he saw Crowley standing at the bottom of the stairs, silent, watching with wide, wary eyes. His hair and clothes were disheveled from sleep, but his fingers were white-knuckled and trembling around the bannister.

"Come here, Crowley." Michael's words were quiet, unthreatening - but clearly a command.

Aziraphale was instantly furious.

As if she had the _right_.

But Crowley obeyed, releasing his death grip on the bannister with a visible effort and approaching the open door with halting steps. One arm was wrapped around his middle, his eyes locked onto the floor. He was visibly quaking, a hair's breadth from _kneeling_, Aziraphale realized all at once with horror.

He swiftly intercepted him, gently taking him by the arms to steady him, feeling a sharp pang of guilt when Crowley flinched at the contact.

"Look at me, love," he said, hushed, soft. "Look at me…"

Crowley's eyes darted up to his angel's face, panicked and filled with tears, his face pale, mouth trembling.

"You're safe," Aziraphale whispered. "It's all right, you're _safe_…"

Crowley nodded, closing his eyes, lowering his head - but he was still trembling, still unsteady on his feet.

"Crowley?" Michael's voice was soft, sympathetic. "I only wish to speak with you. No one is going to harm you. Will you speak with me?"

At the sound of her voice, Crowley's eyes opened, and he glanced sharply toward her, but not _at_ her… not daring to look up to meet her eyes. A quietly seething _rage_ born of realization began to swell in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach, and he turned his icy gaze on her with new understanding, as she went on, so very soft and patient and gentle.

"Aziraphale has been telling me some very disturbing things… about you, and Gabriel? And I just - I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding. I'd like to clear things up, if you'll talk to me…"

As she spoke, Aziraphale _felt _Crowley physically shying away from the sound of her voice, his shoulders falling, his gaze locked onto the floor.

"Come here," she repeated, a note of quiet authority to her voice.

To Aziraphale's horror, Crowley took an automatic step in her direction.

Firmly, Aziraphale held his arms and stopped him, deliberately turning him so that he was angled away from the archangel in the doorway.

"Look at me," he repeated, quietly insistent. "_Crowley._"

Crowley obeyed, and Aziraphale didn't have time to parse out how disturbing that was, how he might have avoided phrasing it as a command. With Crowley's silently panicked gaze now focused on him, he raised a gentle hand to cup Crowley's cheek, gratified and relieved when Crowley abruptly moved closer to him, trembling arms wrapping around Aziraphale's waist and clinging to him as his head fell onto the angel's shoulder.

Aziraphale didn't care about their rather intently observing audience. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Crowley's head, speaking softly into his ear.

"Did she hurt you, too?"

Crowley shook his head against Aziraphale's shoulder, before lifting it again, his brow creased in a frown, eyes still tightly shut, as if he was warring with the painful onslaught of his own memories. His voice was hushed, halting, as he ventured to respond.

"She… knew, though. Allowed it. She - was there."

"No," Michael objected, alarmed, moving as close to the door as the barrier would allow her. "I was never aware of any sort of… carnal violation, anything of a sexual nature…"

"But _you knew_."

Unexpectedly Crowley raised his voice, and the raw agony in it brought tears to Aziraphale's eyes. He turned his head toward her slightly, though still not quite daring to look her in the face. The anguished accusation stopped her words… very nearly stopped Aziraphale's heart… and neither angel could do anything but listen as Crowley went on.

"You... _watched_. When he - made me - cut myself open and _bleed_ for you…" The words were a swelling sob, torn from his throat, and even Michael winced at the sound. "When you _knew_… what it would _do_ to me…"

Confused, Aziraphale frowned, tilting his head to try to catch Crowley's eye. He just waved a helpless, trembling hand in the general direction of the collar - and all at once, horrified, Aziraphale understood.

"I did _everything_ he asked, everything _you_ asked, but you wanted… wanted me to turn on him, and I wouldn't… I _wouldn't_, so _none of it_ mattered, so you said I _failed_, and he… he…" Crowley's voice rose in panicked remembrance with every word, until he broke off abruptly, unable to go any further, and turned back to hide himself in Aziraphale's embrace.

"What?" Michael frowned, shaking her head. "No, you didn't fail, we were _pleased_…"

Crowley flinched violently against him - and Aziraphale had heard _enough_.

"You were _pleased_." His voice was dangerously quiet, trembling with barely restrained fury. He carefully, gently extricated himself from Crowley's arms, pushing his demon behind him and advancing swiftly on the archangel, who took a step back in spite of herself as Aziraphale reached the limit of the barrier. "You were _fucking pleased_?" Aziraphale roared. "At the suffering and destruction of another living being? What, because he's a _demon_? He's not an animal! God help us, you wouldn't even _do that_ to an animal! What is _wrong _with you?"

Michael's gaze was focused on the ground in front of her, guilt evident in her face, _finally_. "Aziraphale…"

"He was _one of us_ once!" Aziraphale continued, extending his arm back toward Crowley, furious, heartbroken tears flowing down his face. "_Why_?"

He glanced back toward Crowley, worrying even through his rage if he was possibly doing more harm than good - but Crowley was just standing there, one arm wrapped around his stomach - watching Michael with a question in his tearful eyes, at last raised to her _face_ \- waiting for her response.

She remained silent, eyes averted and downcast.

"He deserves answers," Aziraphale stated, voice still trembling and barely controlled, after taking a moment to catch his breath. "He deserves to know why that _monster..._ was allowed to _do this_."

"I can't answer your questions," Michael stated at last, quiet and subdued. "It's… classified."

Aziraphale cursed under his breath, turning away from her in frustration for a moment before turning to face her again, eyes blazing with anger. She was looking past him, to Crowley - meeting his eyes, guilty, imploring.

"I didn't know," she insisted. "Not about - all of it."

Crowley held her gaze for a moment, nodding slowly, before looking away. "Just the torture, then," he said, his words flat, soft with exhaustion. "And the _slavery_. Well, if _that's_ all."

"The - the _training_," she persisted. "That was - not without purpose. And you can think it unfair, and I don't blame you, but there's a _war coming.._." She fell silent for a moment, restraining her own frustration before going on. "But… threats on Aziraphale's life, any sort of… intimate violation Gabriel may have committed… all the ways in which this seems to have become a _personal _vendetta, on his part… I wasn't aware. _Heaven_ wasn't aware. You must know that." She looked back up at Aziraphale, a pleading note in her voice as she repeated, "_You_ must know that."

Aziraphale regarded her for a moment, stone-faced. "Do you _wish_ to speak with her any further, Crowley?" he asked, not taking his eyes off her. "She _may_ have answers, but she does not seem inclined to share them."

"No," Crowley whispered, barely audible, turning away with a heavy, weary sigh, his head in his hands. "No, no…"

Michael turned her urgent gaze back toward the angel. "Aziraphale…"

He gave her a cold, brittle smile. "Goodbye."

With a wave of his hand he slammed and locked the door, turning before it had even shut and swiftly closing the distance between himself and Crowley, who immediately turned to face him and gratefully allowed himself to be enveloped in his angel's arms.


	34. Chapter 34

When Crowley walked down the stairs to the bookshop, he fully expected to find Gabriel waiting at the door.

The mental alarm warning of a supernatural presence had dragged him slowly from sleep - but as soon as his weary mind registered the meaning of the sound, panic jarred him awake. He was surprised to find time still moving normally along, and Aziraphale standing at the door talking with the Archangel Michael - but the realization that it wasn't Gabriel who had come to call did surprisingly little to quell his fears.

Just the sound of her voice - calm and quietly commanding, utterly in control - took him right back to the room where he'd been forced to kneel before her, forced to cut open his arm in front of her, obeyed every single command she'd given him save one - and _still_ been found wanting. It took him right back to that moment, that fateful test he'd failed - and all the breathtakingly brutal moments of terror and suffering that had followed it.

With Aziraphale's arms around him, Aziraphale's eyes warm and reassuring and locked onto his own, it was easier to remember that he didn't have to obey her - not here, not safe in the home he shared with his angel.

And with that realization, Crowley's panic subsided, swiftly overtaken by _fury_ as he listened to Michael's fumbling attempts to distance herself from what had been done to him. As if she hadn't _watched_, impassive and calmly critical, while Gabriel had tortured and terrorized him for her approval. As if she hadn't seen for herself the fresh pattern of bruises that marked his face, every time she'd walked into Gabriel's office to find him working at the archangel's feet.

All at once, Michael didn't seem so intimidating anymore.

She seemed… petty. Duplicitous. _Weak._

Within Aziraphale's protective embrace, Crowley felt safe enough to call her out on her hypocrisy, and there was a certain satisfaction in watching his words pierce the armor of her pious complacency and get _something_ out of her, something besides cool detachment or false sympathy. Yet in the end, she still claimed her innocence, claimed _Heaven's_ innocence… and it all just felt so bloody _futile_.

All at once... Crowley just felt very, very _tired_.

His legs felt weak, like they weren't quite capable of holding him up - but that was okay, because he'd barely registered that thought before Aziraphale's strong arms were wrapped around him, drawing him in close, easily bearing the weight of his weariness. He'd thought he was actually holding it together fairly decently, until that moment, when the first, deep, aching sob rose up in his throat. Hot tears followed in its wake, streaking his face, soaking into Aziraphale's shirt. Trembling fingers clenched into fists in the soft cotton at Aziraphale's sides. Crowley's whole body shuddered with exhaustion.

"I've got you," Aziraphale murmured, his voice a low, reassuring rumble in Crowley's ear, one hand warm and steadying at the back of Crowley's head, the other arm wrapped firmly around his waist. "Shhh, love, I've got you…"

And then Aziraphale's wings were wrapped around him as well, a soft glow of warmth and peace flowing over and around him. Without moving his arm from around Crowley, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and with a swift rush of displaced air, all at once they were no longer in the bookshop, but upstairs on the sofa. Aziraphale's wings hadn't shifted a bit, their warm, reassuring weight still draped around the demon's trembling form, holding him close.

"You were so very brave, my darling." Aziraphale's voice was hushed and fierce against his ear, his lips soft as he pressed a kiss into the hair just above it. "So strong, to stand up to her."

Crowley just rested his head against Aziraphale's chest, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Aziraphale's fingers sliding through his hair, the warm glow of the angel's grace so much closer, close enough to saturate his being, with Aziraphale's wings touching him like this. He lay there quietly for a long while, and his racing pulse slowed, the last remnants of his panic and confusion ebbing away as he listened to the quiet warmth of Aziraphale's voice. Eventually his low, soothing words fell away as well, and they both were quiet and still.

"I'm sorry I told you to look at me," Aziraphale said at last in a voice soft with regret.

Crowley swallowed slowly, glad his eyes were closed and turned away from the angel.

"Right, 'cause it's such a hardship. Looking at the bloody gorgeous angel with his blue eyes and pretty face. However shall I cope?" His tone was as light and teasing as possible with his voice so raw from tears.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, still stroking Crowley's hair, pressing a soft kiss into it before he continued, "You never have to do as I say."

"I know," Crowley whispered, the playfulness fading out of his words.

"Or as _they_ say." Aziraphale's voice took on an edge of steel. "Any of them. _Ever_."

"I know," Crowley repeated, a dull ache settling in his chest.

He wasn't afraid anymore - not here, in this room, on this sofa, in his angel's arms where he _knew_ he was safe - but his thoughts were troubled, as his mind finally slowed down enough to replay the archangel's words. Reluctantly, he sat up, and Aziraphale moved with him, shifting position so that Crowley could lean into his shoulder instead of lying across his body. Aziraphale's wings shifted, too, one resting down across the back of the sofa, the other falling around Crowley like a warm, downy blanket.

"She said… it wasn't about you," he said, frowning with confusion. "I don't understand, he - he said I - failed their test, because I - I wouldn't…"

He stopped, his mouth suddenly too dry to go on as the image of Gabriel's expression in that moment flashed through his mind - that moment when they'd both known that there was _nothing he could do_ but fail. Aziraphale's eyes were wide and intent, studying him with concern.

"Because you wouldn't turn on me? You told them - that you tried and failed to seduce me?"

Crowley nodded, closing his eyes against the burn of the memories.

"And they didn't believe you," Aziraphale concluded, raising a hand to tenderly touch Crowley's hair. "My darling," he whispered, pulling Crowley's head down against his shoulder, kissing the top of it softly. "How much you've endured for protecting me."

"But… I think she _did_ believe me," Crowley argued, lifting his head just enough to look at Aziraphale with a confused frown. "He told me I failed, but - she just said I didn't. She said… they were _pleased_. So… if it _wasn't_ about incriminating you, then - then _why_?" He turned his face into Aziraphale's shoulder, reaching out to wrap an arm around his angel's chest, his words a broken whisper, "Why did they do this to me?"

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his words were carefully calm and even. "Do you feel that you could talk to me about the test, my dear? If you can't, it's perfectly all right."

Crowley didn't really want to talk about it. But it was too late not to _think_ about it; the memories were already flooding his mind… vivid, sensory… and if Aziraphale could somehow make sense of it in a way he hadn't been able to… if Aziraphale could help him _understand_…

"They… made you harm yourself."

Crowley sat up a little, wearily lifting his head and drawing in a deep, shaky breath. "Just a couple little cuts," he said. "That wasn't the worst of it, I could have handled that. It was more about - the punishment after. They wanted me to cut myself - even though I knew the collar would fire when I did."

Aziraphale's mouth drew tight, his eyes flashing with anger. His tone remained carefully composed.

"You… _knew_ it would. Gabriel had made you harm yourself before?"

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed slowly, then looked up to meet his angel's gaze.

"No."

Crowley had to look away from the heartbreak in Aziraphale's eyes.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he whispered, guilty. "I - I thought all there was, all there was ever gonna be was - was _him_, and - I just _couldn't_…"

"No, Crowley." Aziraphale's voice was sharp and trembling, and Crowley flinched, just a little, at the sound. When Aziraphale's hand touched his face, he looked up at him, braced for his anger - but found only love. "Don't you dare feel a _moment_ of shame for losing hope… not after the way he _stripped _it from you." Aziraphale's gaze was fierce, looking Crowley's guilt in the face and defying it. "It was _not your fault_."

The force of his loving conviction was so strong that Crowley _almost _believed it.

He cast his eyes up toward the ceiling, drawing in a deep breath, focusing his thoughts on the topic that, of the two at hand, surprisingly, felt _least_ likely to make him fall apart.

The test.

He managed to keep an impressive amount of control, he thought, while describing it to Aziraphale - the basic commands Gabriel had given him, and his flawless obedience; his submission even when faced with the threat of death at his master's hand; and finally, the moment that he could still _feel _when he talked about it… the blade in his hand, against his skin, the icy heat of the cut that he'd _known_ even then would be _nothing_ compared to the collar's violent punishment.

It was at that point that he had to stop, fighting back a wave of nausea, and the clawing panic inside his chest that came along with the memories. Aziraphale's arm around his shoulders, the soft heat of his wing wrapped around Crowley's body, were a grounding comfort, his quiet patience reassuring. Crowley took a moment, and a few steadying breaths, until he could go on.

"He… made me do it again. With the collar still firing. He wanted to prove that - I would obey, even… if I was in pain. No matter what. Without fail, _anything _he said. And… I did." A faint, bitter smile rose to Crowley's lips. "I did. And she said I did well. And... then she asked about you."

Aziraphale kissed his temple, his fingers running slowly through the hair at the back of Crowley's neck, and Crowley closed his eyes for a few moments, fighting to focus on the soothing sensation instead of the terror of that moment.

"He left the room with them for a few minutes, and… when he came back… he said I'd failed. After that, he…" He looked away, swallowing against the knot in his throat. "It was the worst it ever got. After that."

He looked up at Aziraphale again, his angel a glittering, hazy vision through the tears that filled his eyes, slowly coming into focus as he blinked them away. Aziraphale was watching him with full, focused attention, the sorrow in his eyes not quite concealing the fierce glint of protective anger. Crowley's heart swelled with warm reassurance, with relief, with love so deep it _ached_, and he slid his arms around Aziraphale, resting his face against his neck, his next words a hoarse, grateful whisper.

"_And then you came for me_."

Aziraphale, as always, knew what Crowley needed, and just held him for a while in silence, soothing him with slow, soft touches and softer kisses, feather light against his hair, against his brow.

"You're safe now," he whispered. "You're _never_ going back there."

And Crowley closed his eyes and let himself _feel_ it, let himself soak in the relief of _believing_ his angel's promise.

Aziraphale waited a while before breaking the stillness, a note of regret to his words when at last he spoke. "I _do_ think… I know what their plan was."

Reluctantly, Crowley lifted his head again, studying his angel's face. Aziraphale's expression was one of cool anger, a sort of knowing contempt. Crowley watched him, waiting silently for him to go on.

"Several times over the years, I've heard Michael, and others around her, speak of the coming war with Hell, and the… advantages that could come of… having a 'man inside', so to speak."

"A man inside… _Hell._" Crowley's tone was flat, dubious. "A demon… on _their_ side."

Aziraphale nodded. "And then in recent years, there've been… rumors. Nothing solid. Just… whispers here and there. The idea of converting one of Hell's agents to work for Heaven instead. Something I heard referred to as 'Project Trojan'."

A burst of disbelieving, almost hysterical laughter escaped Crowley's lips, and Aziraphale gave him a look of mild alarm. He just shook his head slowly with a weary sigh.

"Only oblivious angels with almost no connection to humanity would find that name appropriate for a top secret military operation. 'S fitting, though. As they're all _dicks_."

Aziraphale did not seem to take offense; at this point Crowley was fairly certain that he more or less shared that opinion of the majority of angels. He did seem a little confused, though, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"I believe it's a reference to the Trojan Horse of Greek myth…"

"Yeah, well…" Crowley's smile faded, only the barest remnants of humor left in his dark tone. "S'pose Gabriel misinterpreted the intentions behind the name."

Aziraphale tilted his head a little, still seeming confused. "I'm afraid I don't get it, love."

"'S all right," Crowley sighed, looking away. "Neither would he." He took a breath and went on, "So you're saying… the idea was to take a demon, and… _train_ him… to be their Trojan Horse… a spy on the inside."

"That's my best guess at this point," Aziraphale agreed with a slow nod and an apologetic grimace. "Though it never entered my mind that they'd go about it _this _way. I assumed the idea was to find a demon who might already be sympathetic to Heaven's cause."

"They could have asked nicely," Crowley agreed, morosely picking at the hem of his shirt. At Aziraphale's surprised, questioning look, he shrugged, a little self-conscious. "I've never been all that sold on Hell's party line."

Aziraphale considered that for a moment. "They had those pictures," he mused. "They might have used them a bit differently. Offered our safety, in exchange for your service."

Crowley nodded. "I'd have taken it," he said softly.

Aziraphale sighed, holding Crowley a little closer. "I don't understand why they'd leap right to forced labor and captivity."

Crowley swallowed slowly, feeling the burn of tears returning to his eyes. The warm security of Aziraphale's arms around him wasn't exactly helping his emotional control. His words came out flat and bitter. "Because why have a double agent who might as easily backstab them as Hell… when they can have one who's too bloody broken to dare?"

He felt a swift flare of anger from Aziraphale - but it didn't frighten him. He found himself settling in closer to the fierce heat of it, taking reassurance from it.

It made him feel _safe_.

"It doesn't make sense, though," Aziraphale persisted with a note of frustration. "What were they going to do, send you into Hell wearing _that_, and expect no one to notice?"

Crowley's fingers rose to brush against his neck, just shy of touching the collar. He was quiet for a moment, considering the question. "No," he concluded softly at last. "They weren't."

He could practically _hear_ Aziraphale's pensive frown. "I don't understand."

"By the time they'd have sent me in... I don't think they expected they'd need it anymore."

Crowley felt Aziraphale's shock, not only across their connection, but in the way his body, his hands, went completely still. He remained quiet, allowing Aziraphale to process his words, and allowing the memories to seep in from the corners of his mind.

He thought about errands Gabriel had sent him on that took him so close to the escalator leading back down to Earth - and yet he'd never considered making a break for it. He thought about hours spent pressing his face against cold, rough stone, _just in case_ Gabriel might come in. He thought about the warm glow of reassurance, his tears of relief and gratitude when Gabriel touched him and told him he'd been _good_ and he was _pleased_.

Crowley suppressed a shudder and turned into his angel's embrace, putting both arms around him and settling down against him. He reached up a hand just long enough to tug Aziraphale's wing down over him, and Aziraphale let out a soft, affectionate little sound of assent as he rearranged it so that it covered Crowley a bit more completely. Crowley closed his eyes and focused on the warmth and softness of Aziraphale's body under him, around him, holding him.

But he couldn't quite shut out the memories… the dark certainty he couldn't deny.

_If I'd been there much longer… they'd have been right._

"Excuse me, sir?"

Gabriel's worthless assistant was disturbing him, _again_. He glanced unhappily down at the spot next to his desk where the best "assistant" he'd ever had used to be, before glaring up at the nervous angel in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"The Archangel Michael says she needs to see you in her office."

Gabriel frowned, a stirring of unease in his chest. "Yes, well, I'm almost finished here…"

"She… says it can't wait." The anxious angel gulped. "_Sir_."

Gabriel sighed. "_Fine_. Tell her I'll be right there."

With annoyance, Gabriel made his way across the hall to Michael's office, knocking briskly on the door before opening it and striding in without waiting for an invitation, daring her with his bright, false smile to say anything about it. She didn't say anything at all, just nodded at the seat across from her, her expression grim and troubled.

"Have you made any progress in handling the situation with Aziraphale?" she asked, running her fingers along the edge of an unmarked manila file in her hands.

"We're in… negotiations," he replied cautiously. "I've been by to speak with him a few times. He's coming around."

"Is he." Her tone was flat, unimpressed, as she set the file down in front of her on her desk, but did not open it. "That's not the impression I got… when I stopped by to see him the other day."

Gabriel's stomach did an unpleasant little flip. "You did. What did he have to say?"

She gave him a tight, angry smile. "Oh, quite a lot, Gabriel. Quite a lot indeed." He waited, eyebrows raised, until she went on. "You were granted permission to use extreme measures with the demon Crowley to ensure his… _submission_. To prepare him for his purpose. And I'm well aware you definitely _took_ such measures. I even - with great trepidation - accepted it when you taught him to think of himself as a slave. If it was what was required in order to achieve his complete obedience and subjugation to Heaven's will - I was willing to make the concession." She leaned across her desk, her voice rising in accusation and outrage. "At what point did I _in any way_ indicate that it was acceptable to _sexually use him_ for your own pleasure? How does _that_ serve Heaven's purpose?"

Gabriel covered his rage, his panic, with a look of alarmed surprise. "_Sexually_…" he echoed, disbelieving. "I would _never_…"

_Treacherous little whore. I'll fucking rip him apart. Then I'll put him back together and do it again._

"Aziraphale seems quite convinced." Michael paused a moment, glancing down at her desk and adding, "I am, too."

"Yes, well, Crowley can be quite convincing," Gabriel pointed out, knowingly sympathetic. "I know the last time you saw him, he seemed pretty pitiful…"

"The last time I saw him," Michael cut in, her tone sharp and wary, "he informed me that you told him he'd _failed_ his testing, and from what I gathered, you punished him for said _non-existent_ failure?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, letting out a low, almost affectionate laugh. "I did no such thing," he sighed. "Really, he's _so_ dramatic." He allowed his smile to fade into an expression of concern, when the suspicion on her face remained unchanged. "He's the Serpent of Eden," he reminded her. "Don't let the state he's in now fool you. I worked hard to get him there - but I've gotten to know him pretty well during that time, and don't forget - his nature is still to _deceive_."

Michael nodded slowly, once, before pushing the file across her desk toward Gabriel, watching his face as he picked it up.

"Is his deceptive nature somehow responsible for _this_?"

"What _is_ this?"

Gabriel frowned, shaking his head a little as he opened the file and began scanning the printed out sheets of paper inside. Recognition dawned on him as he read - along with the first inklings of fear. It was a printed out record of the collar's data logs.

Months' and months' worth.

"Manipulating _time_, Gabriel?" Michael's tone was scathing. "That is such a flagrant abuse of your miraculous power… such an extreme amount of reckless irresponsibility and… well, sheer _pride_, that it's bordering on _blasphemous_. Only _She_ is meant to control time…"

"If that were true, then I wouldn't be able to do it." Gabriel's tone was flat and matter of fact. He sighed. "Look, the project was taking a little longer than I expected, and the war's coming, right? I thought it was quite a _responsible_ use of time."

"_Perhaps_ I could see your reasoning… _if_ you were using it to _train_ him." Michael's voice was quiet, carrying a note of disgust. "Not to... _violate_ him."

Gabriel barely managed to suppress his frustrated temper at her hypocrisy. "You co-signed the order to have him blinded, after he managed to injure me in spite of the control device. You knew I was having his wings modified to make him easier to restrain. You were quite impressed when he cut into his own flesh at my command." He allowed himself a tight, nasty little smile, meeting her eyes with a quiet challenge. "I'd say he most likely felt pretty _violated_, all of those times."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying you did it? His allegations are true?"

"No, I'm not saying that at all." Gabriel glared at her, challenging. "I'm _asking_ you: would it matter if I had - if it got the _job done_?"

She blinked at him, silent, stunned, and Gabriel was a little unsettled by the troubled uncertainty he saw in her face. He'd assumed he knew what her answer would be to his question - but judging by Michael's expression, it seemed likely that even _she_ didn't know.

"He's exactly how you wanted him now, isn't he?" he pointed out.

Michael let out a disbelieving little huff of sarcastic laughter. "In a safe house with Aziraphale under the protection of a sanctuary claim? Yes, that's _exactly_ how I wanted him."

"_Broken_." Gabriel leaned forward in his seat, tossing the file carelessly back onto her desk, waving a dismissive hand at it. "The rest is… _details_. I'll have it worked out in… well, no time at all." He couldn't quite suppress a smirk at his own words.

Michael was far less amused. "Oh, you most certainly will not," she declared. "I haven't heard anything yet, but a sanctuary claim is a very serious affair. We'll be very fortunate indeed if this whole situation hasn't _already_ come to Her attention, Gabriel. And if it does, I'm quite certain She'll be _very_ concerned with the _details_." She fairly spat the word, shaking her head at him in disgust. "I trusted you with the lead position on this project - and you made it into something else. Something it was never intended to be. You made it… _personal_." She frowned. "What issue do you have with Aziraphale, anyway?"

"I don't have any issue with Aziraphale, besides the fact that he's a sick, demon-fucking traitor," Gabriel snapped, feeling a moment's regret at her shocked reaction, but boldly holding her gaze. "_He_ is. Not me. And whatever lies he and his little pet demon are concocting - I'll get to the bottom of it, you have my word."

"Oh, no," Michael objected. "You've done enough already to jeopardize this project, which I had sincerely hoped would catch Her attention in a far more positive way. You're relieved of your position on the project committee, and as the demon's handler, as of this moment."

Gabriel's stomach dropped. "That's ridiculous, after all the time and work I've put in. He's not going to respond to anyone else the way he responds to me…"

"That's the least of my concerns at the moment," Michael declared, her voice heavy with worry. "I'm going to be far too busy for the foreseeable future with cleaning up the mess you've made of the project to even _think_ about how to salvage it. _I_ will continue trying to communicate… and _negotiate..._ with Aziraphale. _You_ will do absolutely _nothing_. No miracles. No time manipulation. It's probably best if you don't leave Heaven for a little while."

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to steady himself. He forced a tolerant smile to his lips. "_Fine_," he bit off the word, taut with resentment. "It's your project. But don't come crying to me when the whole damn thing falls apart."

He got up and headed for the door, ignoring her as she called after him in clear frustration.

"It _already has_!"

He didn't turn around, just headed straight for his own office. He needed to make a couple of preparations - and then he would go take care of Michael's problem, whether she liked and appreciated it, or not. By the time he was finished, there would be no evidence of any questionable activities on his part, no fucking _Aziraphale_ to worry about… and as for his wayward little slave, well… the easiest thing would be to destroy him with the rest of the evidence. Clean sweep. But Gabriel knew there was no way he'd be able to bring himself to do that.

Crowley was _his_. Always would be. And when Gabriel was finished with him… well, who was he kidding, really?

He'd _never_ be finished with Crowley.

But he'd certainly ensure that the little demon whore never dared to open his fucking mouth again, _that_ was for damn sure.

But… first things first.

Before he did anything else, Gabriel needed to get his hands on some Hellfire.


	35. Chapter 35

"_Congratulations. You're getting a second chance." _

_Crowley stared down at the black shirt that had just appeared to cover his bruised arms, his heart sinking with dread. _

_He really, really _did not want _a second chance - to pass Michael's test, to betray Aziraphale. Because he knew beyond any trace of doubt that he would do with the second chance exactly as he had done with the first one. _

"_Get up," Gabriel ordered. _

_Crowley glanced toward him, stopping himself before he allowed his uncertainty to drive his gaze further upward, to search for some sort of explanation or clarity in his master's eyes. He hesitated; Gabriel had not allowed him to stand since the test._

"_I said _get up_." _

_Gabriel crossed the room with a swift, purposeful stride, grabbing Crowley's hair and yanking him up onto his feet, shoving his battered back against the wall, hard. Crowley's hand instinctively rose just a little, trembling, silently pleading. A slow, bemused smile on his lips, Gabriel let go of Crowley's hair to catch his wrist instead, pulling the offending hand up between them. Slowly, relentlessly, he twisted it as he pressed in close, trapping Crowley between the wall and his body. _

_His tone was one of exaggerated disbelief, hushed and private, in Crowley's ear. "Did you just _raise your hand _to me, sweetheart?" _

"_N-no, master," Crowley gasped out, his heart racing. He shook his head, his face turned away and eyes desperately downcast. "Please, no… no, I'm sorry…"_

"_So which is it… my lying little serpent?" Gabriel asked softly, taunting, twisting Crowley's wrist harder until he could no longer hold back a choked whimper. "You didn't do it? Or you're sorry?" _

_Crowley struggled to focus his thoughts through the pain, through the terror of the impending second test, through his desperation to somehow keep up with Gabriel's ever-shifting demands. _

"_I didn't m-mean to do it," he finally tried to explain, breathless, panicked. "If I did it, I - I'm sorry…" _

"_You're not off to a great start," Gabriel observed, his tone light with amusement as he relented at last, releasing Crowley's aching wrist and letting it fall. "Are you going to fail your test again today?" _

_Crowley swallowed hard, his mind racing, desperate. If there was any chance of mercy, any opportunity to avoid the inevitable punishment that would follow another test, this was it - the only moment he was going to get. He forced out choked, desperate words, braced for Gabriel to strike him the moment he heard one he didn't like. _

"_I - I don't want to fail you, master, but…" _

"_You don't want to _fail_," Gabriel corrected him, his tone dark with resentment. "You couldn't care less about failing _me_." _

_Crowley flinched, shaking his head. "No, no, that's not true, I…"_

_Without warning, Gabriel slapped him, slamming the back of his head into the wall behind him and sending Crowley crashing back down to his knees. He could taste blood where his tooth had split his lip, starbursts flashing before his eyes. Gabriel's strong hand at his throat dragged him back up against the stone wall. His other hand was incongruously gentle, brushing Crowley's hair back from his face before he leaned in to speak softly next to his ear. _

"Do not _argue with me." _

_Crowley opened his mouth to apologize - then immediately fell silent when Gabriel drew back his hand in warning. The archangel moved in close again, quiet, allowing Crowley to catch his breath - one hand firmly at his waist, bracing him, while the other stroked slowly through his hair. At last, Gabriel broke the silence, his tone patient and calm. _

"_It's not that kind of test. No one's going to ask you about your angel. No one's going to ask you anything. All you have to do is exactly as you're told. Think you can manage that, sweetheart?" _

_Crowley nodded, a shuddering little gasp escaping his lips as he tried to suppress the panic that rose within him, despite Gabriel's soft reassurance. He knew better than to allow himself to feel relief._

_There was a catch. There had to be. _

_Crowley followed Gabriel down the hall on legs that felt barely strong enough to support his slender frame - trembling, whether from his sense of dread that increased with every step, or from severe disuse over the past few weeks, Crowley couldn't be sure. They stopped in a large hall with a brilliant sky view, very near the escalator leading down to Earth. A few other angels were standing around, as if waiting for them to arrive. _

_Gabriel took a firm hold on Crowley's arm and led him to a specific spot, where he pushed lightly at his shoulder. Crowley immediately went to his knees. He immediately noticed the two metal rings attached to the floor on either side of him - at just about the right length apart to match the ones in his wings. He tried to take some meager reassurance from the idea that whatever Gabriel had planned for his wings, at least it wouldn't be the agonizing stretch of his makeshift rack, but his mouth was dry, his heart racing with rising panic. _

_Crowley kept very still as an angel crouched down on either side of him, very short lengths of chain in their hands. He was unsurprised when they used the chains to bind his wings, low enough that he couldn't lift them more than six inches from the floor, low enough that he was forced to bow his body over his knees. He was a little surprised when he realized that they were just ordinary chains - not blessed, designed only to restrain him, not to hurt him. _

_Gabriel crouched down facing him, reaching out a hand to idly stroke the top of his wing as he glanced over his shoulder at an angel standing behind Crowley. _

"_Get his wrists, too," he ordered, then smiled at Crowley, leaning in close to explain in a conspiratorial tone, "Because I don't trust you." Still smiling, he reached for the collar and turned it up to 05, adding, "_Also _because I don't trust you." _

_Crowley was shaking violently by now... not so much from the new onslaught of what was really rather moderate pain. It was nowhere near as bad as what he was used to receiving directly from the archangel's hands. No, it was _terror _that was stealing his breath, his focus... because if Gabriel felt the need to bind his wrists rather than trust him to keep still… if he expected Crowley to feel it even through the collar's level 05 punishment... then whatever he had planned was going to _fucking hurt_. _

_But for now, the archangel's touch was gentle, almost comforting, as he stroked Crowley's wing and spoke softly, giving him instructions. _

"_This should be easy. No questions. No specific orders. Listen closely." _

_Crowley nodded and tried his best to obey, to focus through the distraction of the collar's punishment. _

"_Don't move," Gabriel ordered, low and warning. "Don't make a sound. Don't fucking _lift your eyes_. Is that clear enough?" _

_Crowley's teeth worried anxiously at his sore lip. That couldn't possibly be all. _

_What was _Gabriel _going to be doing while he was attempting to _not do _all of that? _

_He nodded, halting, uncertain. "Y-yes, master."_

"_That's it, that's the test," Gabriel assured him, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture with a bright smile. "You just keep still and quiet and keep your eyes… right here." _

_He tapped the floor in front of Crowley's face, and the demon obediently focused his gaze on that spot, nodding again. Gabriel let out a soft little chuckle, raising a hand to Crowley's cheek in an affectionate gesture, and Crowley tried his best not to flinch away from it - almost managed it. Gabriel's smile faded, and his hand slid upward to grab a handful of Crowley's hair, dragging his head back to snarl into his ear: _

"_Even _you _shouldn't be able to fuck this one up." _

_He let go, and Crowley swiftly lowered his head again, staring at the spot Gabriel had indicated in front of him. _

_Don't move. Don't speak. Eyes down. _

_He could manage that. He'd been managing that forever now, hadn't he? Hardly even enough to count as a test. _

Has to be a catch. It's a trap. Has to be.

_He kept still and waited as Gabriel spoke quietly with the other angels in the room. They all seemed to be waiting for something as well. Finally, there was a soft chiming sound - something a bit like the ethereal, celestial version of the bell over the bookshop door. Crowley's heart ached, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the thought before it could evolve into memories that would break him. _

_Gabriel walked quickly away, but Crowley didn't dare lift his gaze to follow him. He was aware of quiet voices - mostly Gabriel's - from near the escalators, growing gradually clearer as several sets of footsteps approached. _

"_We've taken care of a major problem for you, as you can see. You're welcome." _

_Gabriel sounded incredibly pleased with himself, but Crowley recognized something in his voice that had become chillingly familiar - a sort of malicious anticipation, just under the surface, that made Crowley almost as worried for whoever the archangel was talking to as he was for himself. _

"_Well, this explains the quiet lately." _

_Crowley's heart stopped._

_He had to be imagining it. Like the bell over the bookshop door, like warm summer sunlight and the scent of tea and old books, like his angel lying next to him in the soft, warm bed in his cell. He had to be _imagining _it, because it _couldn't be real_, not here…_

_He didn't even mean to look up, he didn't, but all at once his eyes were locked onto Aziraphale's face. His angel, standing right in front of him, looking down at him with nothing more in his gaze than a cool expression of mild surprise. _

See? He isn't horrified, or angry, or even worried. He doesn't want you. Probably didn't even know you were gone…

_But… something about that thought wasn't right, something that didn't fit. _

"_I'd been wondering what he's been up to, since there's been no sign of his sinful works of late," Aziraphale continued with a frigid smile at Gabriel - a _false _smile. _

_Crowley knew him well enough to know. _

Gabriel said he gave you up to him. _The little piece of the puzzle that didn't fit was suddenly clear in his mind. _Said he betrayed you, threw you away. If he'd done that, he'd have known you were here, wouldn't he?

_Suddenly Gabriel's instructions made sense - and Crowley's heart sank. _

_Aziraphale had never betrayed him - and Crowley had never betrayed Aziraphale - so Gabriel was trying something else. He'd brought Aziraphale here to catch him in his reaction to what he was seeing, to cause him to incriminate himself. Even if Aziraphale managed not to betray his true feelings about what he was seeing, he'd surely say something to contradict Crowley's story, something that would be evidence enough to arrest him. _

_It _was _a trap. _

_It just wasn't for Crowley. _

_Or rather - not _only _for Crowley. He glanced toward the archangel, not daring to look at his face, bracing himself for what he knew he would have to do. _

_Don't speak. Don't move. Don't look up. _

_He'd already failed the test on one count - and he was going to fail it at least twice over - because he had to warn Aziraphale before it was too late._

"_What he's been up to?" Crowley could hear the smirk in Gabriel's voice. "Well, see, that's the interesting bit. He's been filling us in on that…_

"_It should have worked." Crowley forced the words past trembling lips, glancing instinctively toward Gabriel, though focusing on Aziraphale's face instead, desperately willing him to understand. "Seduction's sort of my thing, isn't it? If you weren't such a bloody prude… this lot were way quicker on the uptake than you, stupid oblivious angel…" _

_The words poured out in a rush, panic seizing him as Gabriel swiftly closed the distance between them, and even without the benefit of Gabriel's mark, Crowley could feel the intensity of his rage rolling off of him. His black dress shoe came down hard on the top of Crowley's wing, and Crowley felt and heard the bone snap, a moment before an explosion of agony tore a strangled scream from his lips. Gabriel grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, choking off his cry of pain, his foot grinding brutally down harder, crushing the broken bone in Crowley's wing as he leaned in close to Crowley's ear so that only he could hear. _

"_You think you're clever, little serpent?" he bit the words off, cruel, menacing. "You just made my day. I knew you'd fuck it up. You think last time was bad? Oh, sweetheart…" His voice was very soft, sending a shiver down Crowley's spine as his lips brushed his ear. "Just _wait '_til you see what I've got planned for you…"_

_Crowley shook his head, silently, uselessly pleading, his heart sinking with despair. A desperate apology lodged in his throat, but he found that he couldn't push it past his lips. _

_No matter what happened to him now, no matter what Gabriel did… _

… _he _wasn't _sorry. _Couldn't possibly _be sorry, if it saved his angel. _

"_Really, Crowley." Aziraphale's voice was mocking, and Gabriel let go of Crowley, turning to face him. "Did you think I didn't know? You've always been so obvious." He laughed, and the sound was cold and contemptuous. "Oblivious is not the same thing as simply not interested." _

_The words stung, and Crowley flinched. Confusion began to creep into the corners of his mind. Maybe it _wasn't _a trap for Aziraphale? Maybe he _had _turned him over to Gabriel? The way he was speaking chilled Crowley's blood. It sounded so foreign, so unlike the Aziraphale he remembered. _

_Or… _thought _he remembered. _

He never loved you. Just used you. Used you and then gave you away.

"_I do wish you'd mentioned this to me, however." Aziraphale was still talking, sounding mildly annoyed with the entire situation. "I've been at a loss, wondering what horrible thing he was planning. He's never so quiet for so long. And the whole time, he's been right here, while my worries have been rather wasted. Earth is my jurisdiction, after all." He moved toward Crowley, and Crowley tensed, all at once deeply unsettled, wary. "If punishment is due this foul creature… it should have been mine to mete out." _

"_You'd like that?" There was a calculating note in Gabriel's voice, and Crowley knew that the archangel was as unsure of Aziraphale's motivations as he was. "That's something you'd want to do?" _

"_Oh, most definitely." Aziraphale's voice was soft as he crouched down facing Crowley. _

_Crowley wanted to look up at him, wanted to try to read what was in the angel's eyes… but he didn't dare. He wasn't allowed. He'd already slipped up once, though he wasn't sure if Gabriel had noticed it. He didn't know what Gabriel might do to him if he ventured to look up at the angel's face again._

_He didn't know what _Aziraphale _might do, either. _

_Aziraphale reached out a hand toward Crowley's face, running the backs of his fingers down his cheek. Alarmed, Crowley jerked away from the touch, resisting the urge to look at Gabriel, who had to be furious at seeing it. His mouth was dry, his heart racing, his mind overwhelmed with confusion. _

_And Aziraphale's cruel, cold words didn't help._

"_Your ridiculous flirtations… your pathetic overtures of 'romance'... how could you have ever thought I'd fall, for you? I only tolerated it at all because I felt it kept you occupied. As long as you were focusing your repulsive attentions on me… then you weren't doing your actual job." _

_Crowley's face heated with shame, his heart aching. He could practically feel Gabriel's smug smile, could hear his voice in his head. _

Told you.

"_How I'd love the opportunity to show you how I really feel about you, Crowley," Aziraphale said in a tone that was cold and terrifying. "Truly I would." _

_Crowley wanted to weep. _

_He didn't _want _to know how Aziraphale really felt about him. Not if it was going to destroy every last memory he'd had to keep himself going for the endless months of his captivity. Not if it was going to shatter every last piece of himself he had left. _

"_Would you?" Gabriel sounded curious, speculative. _

_At last Aziraphale stood up and moved away from Crowley, and he closed his eyes, fighting back tears, desperately trying to shut it out as they negotiated and discussed terms and reached a mutually satisfying conclusion regarding his fate. As Gabriel agreed to hand over his property to Aziraphale - temporarily, there was no doubt of that in Crowley's mind. _

_As _Aziraphale _agreed to practice punishing him until he'd properly honed his skill. _

_And the only thing Crowley was sure of at all as he knelt there, helplessly confused and terrified of both of them - was that this was indeed a trap. _

_He just had no idea any longer which of them it'd been set for. _

He's faking. He just wants to get you out of here, that's all, _he told himself, desperately trying to believe it. _

Yeah, he just wants to get you out of here… so he can do _what, _exactly? _the taunting little voice in the back of his mind whispered. _

_While Aziraphale sat filling out the paperwork for his custody exchange, Crowley stayed where he was, still and quiet and trying to make sense of what was happening. The angels who had bound his wings came and unbound them, and he drew them in as close as he could to his body, folding himself down into the extremely submissive posture Gabriel had been demanding of him most recently. _

_Gabriel's hard, purposeful footsteps made Crowley cringe down even lower against the floor, but his desperate submission did nothing to soothe the archangel's wrath as he grabbed hold of Crowley's collar and yanked him up to his feet. Crowley tried to keep up with Gabriel as he hauled him across the room and shoved his face up against the wall. He froze, not daring to move at all as Gabriel moved in close behind him, the heat of his body, the heavy feel of his hand pressing at the back of Crowley's neck, stifling, overwhelming. _

"_You think you've helped him?" Gabriel sneered in his ear. "You haven't. If I were you… I'd keep my fucking mouth _shut_, sweetheart. Because once he knows… what you've done… what you are… if he's smart, he'll bring you right back here to me. And… if he's idiot enough to care _one little bit _about you… enough to take _your side _against me, against Heaven, against _Her_? Then he's going to Fall." Gabriel laughed, soft and cruel. "My money's on the second one. Because that's just what you _do_, isn't it? Tempt angels… corrupt goodness wherever you find it. _Ruin _every single thing you touch." _

_Crowley's heart sank as he took in the archangel's vicious condemnation, and a burning shame overwhelmed him - because it was the truth. Gabriel was right. He was vile, wicked, undeserving of an angel's love. And if it still existed, if Aziraphale _did _still love him… then he was putting him at risk just by being anywhere near him. _

_He was abruptly distracted from his thoughts by Gabriel's hand, trailing slowly down his back. He shivered, steeling himself for the pain he knew would happen when Gabriel's hand reached its target. Gabriel's voice lowered to a hushed murmur, his lips brushing Crowley's ear. _

"_So _whatever _happens, eventually… you'll end up… right back here, with me." _

_Crowley's every nerve was on edge, waiting - but Gabriel didn't touch his mark. He only unlocked the shackles on Crowley's wrists and snapped his fingers to make them vanish away. Gabriel grabbed Crowley by the collar again and jerked him away from the wall. _

"_You're going to be very good for me now, aren't you, sweetheart?" he whispered, the soft words a jarring contrast to his rough, punishing grasp. _

_Crowley nodded frantically. _

"_Do exactly as you're told. Or your angel won't make it back down to Earth at all. Clear?" _

_Crowley nodded again. "Please…" he whispered. _

"_Shut up." _

_He did. _

_Gabriel dragged Crowley over to where Aziraphale stood in front of a massive pile of completed paperwork. Automatically Crowley started to sink to his knees, but Gabriel roughly jerked him back up, his grip on the collar momentarily choking him, his voice sharp and commanding. _

"_No." _

_Crowley just stood there, feeling incredibly self-conscious, uneasy with being on his feet after all this time. He kept his head low, his wings drawn in as tight as he could manage, though the broken one throbbed at the pressure. He wanted so desperately to look up at Aziraphale, to try to ascertain what he was thinking, feeling - but he didn't dare. Perhaps Aziraphale was here to rescue him - _perhaps_. But if he wasn't… if he was telling the truth about taking him home to punish him… then looking him in the eye would probably piss him off. _

_It would _definitely _piss _Gabriel _off. _

_Crowley kept his eyes down. _

_It didn't keep him from seeing the silver glint of the remote for the collar in Gabriel's hand, and his stomach plummeted even before the archangel spoke. _

"_Now let me show you how this works…"_

_Crowley's pulse pounding in his ears drowned out the rest of Gabriel's words, as the archangel roughly pulled Crowley closer to Aziraphale to show him the collar's controls. Crowley stood still and submissive, his eyes closed. It was safest, no accidents that way. But it also meant that he couldn't see what Gabriel was doing with the remote. He braced for it, biting down on his sore lip in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. _

"_Right now it's set around the middle… tends to keep him nice and quiet." Gabriel paused, and Crowley tensed at the accusing edge to his voice. "Most of the time. But if it's ever not enough… if he just keeps running his _stupid mouth_, and you need to teach him a lesson…" _

_No matter how prepared he'd thought he was, the pain still tore through Crowley with breathtaking force - a level 08 punishment, searing and overwhelming. His weakened legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, curling his body over his knees and struggling, desperately struggling to keep quiet. The last thing he needed right now was to make Gabriel any angrier than he already was. _

_Gabriel was still talking, but Crowley couldn't make out the words through the sickening haze of pain that consumed him; and he could tell by his tone - easy, conversational - that he was talking to Aziraphale, not him. _

_Aziraphale, who was responding just as casually to Gabriel, calm and curious about what he was witnessing. _

He's not here to save you, _the sinister voice of his master whispered in his mind. _

_Through the pain, Crowley registered Gabriel's foot nudging his side - not hard enough to hurt, but meant to get his attention. He tried to listen, he really did, but it was so hard to focus… like trying to understand what someone was saying from underwater. Gabriel's _tone_, though - viciously mocking, pointed and accusing - it was meant for him, he knew it was, and he had to be listening, couldn't miss his master's instructions…_

"_Right, Crowley?" _

_Panic seized him. He had no idea what he was supposed to be responding to. He stayed where he was, silent, frozen with agony and uncertainty. Gabriel's hand grasped his throat and shoved his head up and back, Gabriel's cruel eyes glaring into his face, his voice low and threatening._

"Right_?" _

_Of course. It wasn't a difficult question. Whatever Gabriel said - he was _always _right. _

"_Right," Crowley whispered, breathless, hot tears sliding down his face. Then for good measure he added, "'S-s my fault. S-sorry…"_

_Maybe he'd said a bit too much. Maybe he shouldn't have apologized. Gabriel had told him over and over to be quiet, and somehow he couldn't ever seem to shut his stupid mouth. Crowley braced himself for the archangel's fist to his face - but Gabriel just released him with a rough shove and moved away from him again. Relieved and grateful even through the mind-numbing agony of the collar's punishment, Crowley lowered his face against his knees, his shoulders quaking with the tears that he couldn't hold back any longer. _

_Gabriel was talking again, but not to him - and then all at once, the pain began to ease, settling back down to the level 05 it had been at before. Gabriel crouched down in front of him again, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up, and Crowley cooperated with the movement, keeping his gaze carefully focused on the floor just past Gabriel. He was exhausted, overwhelmed, but desperately relieved. _

_Gabriel's voice was gentle, almost sympathetic. "Lesson learned?" _

_Crowley nodded, but then remembered. He'd been asked a question; he had to answer. "Y-yes," he managed to get out through the tears that still clogged his throat. "Sorry… 'm sorry…"_

_He was acutely aware of the archangel's continued, focused attention, studying him closely for a long moment, and he kept his eyes down, kept as still and quiet as possible. Gabriel's hand shifted to rest at his cheek, soft and reassuring for just a moment, before he touched the dial on the collar - turning it back down to level 02. _

_At this point, Crowley barely even _felt _a level 02 anymore. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until it left him in a rush, the tension flowing out of his taut, aching shoulders as the pain faded away almost completely. Gabriel kept watching him, not touching him, just… waiting. _

_Crowley's stomach lurched. "Thank you," he whispered quickly, ducking his head, closing his eyes, tensed for a blow if he'd gotten it wrong. "Thank you." _

_Gabriel didn't strike him._

"_Better," he remarked, his voice soft and approving, his hand gentle in Crowley's hair just before he rose to his feet again. _

_Overwhelmed with relief, Crowley stayed there on his knees, quietly catching his breath, not really listening as Gabriel and Aziraphale talked about him - about how Aziraphale was supposed to punish him. To not go too easy on him. To make an example of him to the rest of Hell. It didn't really matter, did it? It wasn't as if he had any power to change it. Whatever the two of them decided would happen to him - that was what was going to happen. It didn't matter, none of it mattered. He kept telling himself that, repeating it over and over in his mind, as if it could make it true - but he knew it wasn't. _

_It _did _matter. _

_He'd learned to accept whatever Gabriel decided to throw at him - to submit to unspeakable agony, and do his best to please and appease until it was over. But Gabriel was handing him over to Aziraphale - his gentle, loving angel who was glaring down at him with cold eyes… whose hostility and anger he could feel without a word, without a touch. And it did matter - because he could take it from Gabriel. It was agony and terror and desperate confusion every moment… but he had learned to bear it. _

_He couldn't bear it if it was Aziraphale._

"_Stand up, Crowley." Aziraphale's voice was curt and cold. _

_A shiver of dread passed through Crowley, and he quickly nodded to let the angel know he was going to obey, he was _trying _to obey, he was just so exhausted, so weakened from pain, from weeks on his knees, and he couldn't manage it quickly. _

Please don't be angry, angel, please don't hurt me, _please…_

_It felt like it took him forever to get to his feet. Gabriel would have likely slapped him back down again in anger. He held still, repressing a flinch when Aziraphale reached for his arm - his grip not painful, but not gentle, either. Firm. Unyielding. _

I'll be good. I'll be so good for you, I'll do anything, please, just please don't…

_And then Gabriel was touching them both, and the next moment, Heaven had vanished away, and they were back in the bookshop. The dim early evening sunlight filtering through the dusty windows illuminated a scene of surreal familiarity. How many endless hours he'd spent here, with his angel - a lifetime ago. It felt so strange. _Had _he been here, _stayed _here, loving his angel and looking forward to a future together? _

_Or had it been someone else? The memories felt like they belonged to someone else. _

"_Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice reached him from somewhere far away, Aziraphale's hand reaching toward him. His tone was gentle, soothing. "Crowley, my dear…"_

It's all right… that's it, be good for me, sweetheart…

_Crowley shuddered, lost in fearful confusion, and looked up at the angel's face. _

No, no, so _stupid_! Not supposed to, eyes on the floor, you worthless little slut!

_Crowley flinched away, holding up a protective arm in front of his face. "S-sorry, sorry…" he pleaded, sinking to his knees on the wood floor. "Please… please, don't…"_

Are you raising your hand to me? I'll do whatever the fuck I want to do to you, little serpent…

_Crowley lowered his arm quickly, wrapping it around his stomach instead. _

_As was ever the case… it seemed he couldn't manage to do _anything _right. _

"_Please… please… please…" he whispered desperately, helplessly, tears falling down his face. He cringed at the hissing sound of his words - as if Aziraphale needed any reminder of his nature, of how low and deceptive and worthy of punishment he truly was._

"_Please?" Aziraphale echoed - but there was no trace of mockery or anger there... only a gentle sorrow. "Please what, my dear?" Aziraphale's hand was extended… but he didn't touch Crowley, didn't grab him and drag him in closer. He clearly _wanted _to touch him - but he didn't force him, although he easily could have. _

_And then, he asked Crowley a question that no one had asked him in more than a year… a question that, perhaps, no one but Aziraphale had _ever _asked him._

"_Tell me, Crowley. What do you need?"_

_And deep within Crowley, something broke open, some part of him long neglected and ignored. Some tiny part of his heart that, despite his fear and confusion, began to recognize, and remember… and just barely dare to begin to hope…_

_That he still had a place here… that this was still his angel, his love. _

_That somehow, impossibly, after all this time… he was _home_. _

Aziraphale cautiously approached the bedroom door, pushing it open just a little to peer inside. And if it took just a tiny miracle to silence the creaking sound it otherwise would have made, well - Aziraphale didn't really know if anyone was keeping track of his miracles at all anymore… and he didn't really care, either.

He'd do anything in his power to ease Crowley's suffering, to bring him a little more peace.

The demon was sound asleep in the bed Aziraphale had given him. He was turned almost onto his stomach, his arms wrapped around the light Aziraphale had made for him, casting a soft glow across his sleep-slack features, eyes closed and lips parted. The warm, fleecy blanket that had become his favorite was draped over his body to his hips, exposing the soft gray t-shirt he was wearing - and between the hem of the shirt and the top of his sleep pants, the slightest glimpse of the scar at the base of his spine.

Aziraphale's expression darkened, as he quietly closed the door.

He made his way down the stairs to a secluded corner of his shop, his arms laden with the supplies he would need. He took his time making the circle he needed, making sure that every intricate marking was perfectly drawn, the candles all in place and lit, before speaking, his voice hushed and cautious in the stillness.

"Hello? This is the Principality Aziraphale. Is… is anyone there?"

A column of bright white light appeared immediately, rising from the center of the circle, and in the center of the column, the face of a man.

"What would you say to the Almighty, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale frowned, mildly confused. He'd never actually done this before.

"I'm sorry, I'm - I'm trying to reach… God."

"I am the Metatron, Aziraphale - the voice of God. To speak to me is to speak to Her."

Aziraphale was disappointed, a little, but realized all at once that he wasn't even surprised. Recent events had rather lowered his expectations when it came to Her… responsiveness. He sighed in mild, frustrated resignation.

"All right, then, I suppose, if that's the best that's on offer."

The face of the Metatron raised a single eyebrow at Aziraphale. Aziraphale was, to his own surprise, quite unintimidated. If he hadn't been struck down or cast out yet, for any of the things that he'd done or was planning to do, well - he highly doubted a few mildly impolite words would be the thing to tip the scales.

He took a deep breath, and began to speak, his words careful and measured. "You see all… know all… so I know that You know what's happened. I need to know… well… what You intend to _do_ about it, Lord. Grievous wrongs have been committed against… someone who in no way deserved to be hurt like that." Aziraphale paused, his voice softened with emotion as he amended, "_No one_ deserves to be hurt like that." He shook his head a little, frowning, gazing up at the Metatron and searching the impassive face for some sort of reaction. "I don't understand. How could You allow this to happen? You have the power to stop it… yes?"

The Metatron was silent for a long moment, before responding simply, "Yes."

It wasn't an unexpected answer, and yet Aziraphale felt a sharp ache in his chest, deeply hurt by the confirmation. "And yet You did not. _Why_?"

The Metatron was silent for a few long moments, before at last the response came back.

"There are many things that you cannot and will not understand. I do not owe you answers, Aziraphale."

A hot rush of anger bloomed in Aziraphale's chest, and he fought to suppress the indignant words that rose in his throat, taking a breath and controlling his reaction.

"All right," he conceded at last, his voice trembling a little. "Perhaps not. You owe me nothing, Lord. But… what of what is owed to _Crowley_?" The Metatron remained silent, watching, waiting. "I know he's a demon," Aziraphale admitted, his words choked with emotion. "I know he's not exactly… _innocent_, but… he's… far closer to it than Your servants… Your archangels who've committed such _vile_ abuses, in Your name. Claiming it to be Your will. Crowley's fallen, I know, but… _that's_ the punishment for his sins, is it not? It's _enough_. It's _more_ than…" He stopped himself, swallowing hard, trying to regain his composure, blinking away tears. "What of the archangels, and _their_ sins? Surely You can't just sit by and be _silent _in the face of their sin…" He drew in a soft, shaky breath. "... in the face of his _suffering_."

There was quiet for a few moments, as the Metatron relayed Aziraphale's message back to God, and then finally, Hers back to Aziraphale.

"Many pray for answers in their suffering, Aziraphale. Many receive only silence."

"_Not him_," Aziraphale objected with quiet ferocity, shaking his head, swiping at his tears. "Please. It's too much. It's _too much_ to expect him to bear, without any sort of explanation, without _answers_… without any promise of… of protection. Of _justice_. Please. Please, just… _do_ _something_." He swallowed slowly. "Or - or _I will_. You've said… vengeance is Yours. Well… if You won't take it, then... " He stopped, waiting. At last, anguished, he pleaded, "Aren't you going to say _something_?"

The Metatron just stared at him, placid and silent.

"Right," Aziraphale sighed at last, disappointment and resignation in his weary voice. "No answers, then. Only silence. As the humans must accept it, so must I, apparently. So must Crowley, as… as _unjust_… as it _seems_." He glared up at the Metatron, fierce desperation in his eyes. "But… if there aren't any answers to be had… if You won't speak… please, will You just… _listen_?"

Only silence met his words for a long moment, and Aziraphale's heart sank. Defeated, he reached down and picked up one of the candles, closing his eyes and preparing to blow it out and break the connection. But before he could, the image of the Metatron flickered out of its own accord. He frowned at the place where it had been, troubled and unsettled.

And then, a voice he hadn't heard in millennia - warm and rich and knowing, and far closer than he could have imagined, spoke into the silence, awakening a deep ache of yearning in his heart... and then nurturing and fulfilling that need in the very same breath.

"_Speak, Aziraphale. I'm listening." _


	36. Chapter 36

Aziraphale's research was finished.

It was a startling, vaguely unsettling state of affairs - to all at once have _completed_ the task that had taken his attention, in one form or another, for the past couple of months. There was a little part of him that felt slightly guilty - as if he should have a book open in front of him, should be taking careful notes until his hands would have cramped if he'd been human. But there was nothing left to study, at least, not when it came to his plan.

Everything had been set into motion - even if it left Aziraphale feeling a little restless, a little unsettled.

But, to say that Aziraphale was at a loss as to what to do with his time would have been the farthest thing from the truth.

He had Crowley, relaxed and desirous and nearly naked in his arms. He had the bed beneath them, soft and warm and shifting slightly under the weight of their bodies as he slowly worked his way down Crowley's chest, laving his skin with teasingly soft kisses that drew sharp, tremulous gasps and other delightfully desperate little sounds from his demon's lips. He had Crowley's long, elegant fingers tracing trembling patterns through his hair, pulling him in closer against the center of his long, lithe frame, quivering with his increasingly rapid, erratic breaths.

He had his plan in place.

There was nothing left to do but to make sure there wasn't a single trace of doubt left in Crowley's mind that it was _all for him_.

Aziraphale moved back up the bed, trailing his fingertips along the line his mouth had kissed, relishing the soft little shiver that passed through Crowley's body at the touch. Crowley's mouth was eager and needy, drawing the angel in for a kiss that was urgent, insistent - and Aziraphale met it with equal intensity.

Crowley's arms slid around Aziraphale, embracing him, pulling him down on top of him, and Aziraphale raised a hand to tenderly cradle Crowley's face, his thumb tracing gently along the line of his jaw as he drew back, a little breathless, to simply look at him.

Crowley's golden eyes were bare, hooded with desire, as he gazed up at Aziraphale without a trace of fear or uncertainty - only pure, open trust.

Aziraphale had never in his existence tasted anything so intoxicating.

The mental warning of some unwelcome guest nearing the bookshop was jarring - as was the sudden fear in Crowley's eyes when it reached his mind as well, the way he tensed and shivered as if someone had just splashed icy water all over the desire and closeness they'd been feeling and replaced it with dread.

"It's not Gabriel," Crowley whispered, looking up at Aziraphale, his expression still anxious and uncertain.

"Not Gabriel." Aziraphale sighed, leaning down to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to Crowley's temple. "Will you stay up here, love? Let me handle it?" He was fairly certain that Crowley's anxiety - or at the very least, his curiosity - would get the better of him and he wouldn't be able to resist seeing for himself who was at their door.

"All right," Crowley agreed softly, lowering his gaze.

Mildly surprised, Aziraphale smiled and kissed him again, on the lips this time, kissing with slow, soft insistence until Crowley's mouth was no longer trembling under his. "I'll be right back," he promised.

He rose from the bed, snapping his fingers to fully dress himself as he headed toward the bedroom door - noticing with a sharp ache in his chest, the way Crowley immediately reached for the light on the nightstand and pulled it into the bed to take his place.

He was halfway down the stairs when the doorbell started ringing - repeatedly, insistently - and Aziraphale felt a sense of mingled relief and annoyance at the realization that it could only be Hastur. He schooled his expression into something colder, harder, before opening the door, giving the anxious demon standing there a dubiously raised eyebrow.

"I believe I was quite clear that you were only to come here if called."

"I've got something you _need_, you ungrateful bastard," Hastur muttered, glancing uneasily up and down the busy sidewalk, and out into the hazy twilight beyond it, an ominous bolt of lightning momentarily brightening the cloudy sky. "Now invite me in before someone _sees_ me here!"

Aziraphale gave the demon an appraising look, momentarily considering - but if it came to a physical fight, he knew Hastur would pose no challenge to him. He hadn't been chosen, all those millennia ago, to guard the Garden for no reason. And Crowley wasn't the only one who occasionally suffered from a dangerous level of curiosity. With a tolerant sigh, Aziraphale stepped back away from the door with an airy little wave of his hand.

"Come in, come in," he said, resignation in his voice. "This had better be worth my time."

"Yeah, because you're so bloody terrifying," Hastur muttered, sarcastic and sullen… but his eyes still darted warily toward Aziraphale's hands as he moved.

Perhaps the affection Aziraphale had shown for Crowley in Hastur's presence had dampened his intimidation factor, made him just a little less frightening - but Hastur was still, clearly, incredibly uneasy around Aziraphale - a fact which only served to fuel the angel's curiosity.

_He must feel he has quite a good reason, to come here of his own free will._

"First - _this_."

Hastur held out his arm, fairly thrusting the filthy cloth sack in his hand toward Aziraphale. Aziraphale eyed it with distaste, giving the demon a severe, warning look as he cautiously took it from his hand, then opened it and peered inside. He blinked in surprise at what he saw there, pulling it out just a little to examine it more closely.

"Wasn't sure… how quick you wanted it. The archangel's… _passing_." Hastur smirked, but there was more than typical demonic pleasure in his gaze; there was cold, angry intent. "Thought those might come in handy."

"Yes, quite," Aziraphale agreed, a little distant and distracted as he allowed his mind to wander to the possibilities. "They will indeed." He set the sack down on the floor next to the counter, looking back up to meet Hastur's eyes. "Thank you," he admitted after a moment's hesitation.

Hastur nodded once, solemn. "There's something else." He reached into his filthy, ragged jacket, and Aziraphale tensed, watching him closely - but he just took out a stained, slightly damp file folder. As he held it out, he rolled his eyes and made a sound of disgust, and Aziraphale looked at him sharply in mild offense as he took it - the moment before he felt Crowley's arm slide around his waist, his body pressing in close to Aziraphale's side.

Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley in return as he moved around behind the counter to set the folder down and open it.

"I thought you were staying upstairs, darling," he said, a bit absently, only mildly reproving.

He felt Crowley shrug against him. "Heard the bell. Knew it was nothing to be scared of. Just Hastur."

Aziraphale suppressed a smirk as Hastur gave Crowley a withering glare.

"Also," Crowley continued, clearing his throat a little, resting his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder as he declared with a mildly defiant air, "I don't have to."

Aziraphale couldn't possibly have been more thrilled. He beamed at Crowley with pride and adoration. "No, no, you don't," he conceded, trying to sound solemnly rebuked, trying to suppress his smile. "Of course you don't, no idea what I was thinking, my love."

"Could you get on with it?" Hastur cut in with an impatient sigh. "I'd love to get through my day _without_ vomiting, thanks so much."

Aziraphale glared at him, but dutifully focused his attention on the documents as he laid them out in front of him. He frowned when he noticed that they all had Crowley's name, his _real_ name, emblazoned throughout them. Most of them appeared to be centuries-old reports on the demon's activities. "All right, then." He kept his tone carefully cool and calm, as he slowly paged through them. "Explain to me what I'm seeing."

"This file was checked out of our records room by a demon named Rejul… several months ago. He had no official need for the information, but we had no reason to look into it too closely - until he was murdered last night." Hastur paused to allow the information to sink in, holding Aziraphale's gaze with his dead, black eyes. "Smote. By an archangel."

Aziraphale frowned, as he felt Crowley tense beside him. "Gabriel?"

Hastur nodded. "We started going over some of our surveillance records. Photographs going decades back. Discovered something disturbing. Rejul had been meeting with Gabriel. Frequently. Getting paid to pass him information. Sometimes it looked like they'd just talk for a few minutes… sometimes, he'd give him copies of Hell's secret files, like that one." He nodded toward the counter. He paused, "_Specifically_, that one."

"That's how he knew," Crowley whispered, his arm around Aziraphale tightening, momentarily resting his head against his angel's shoulder. "About... _time_. That he could…"

Aziraphale nodded, raising his hand behind Crowley's head to soothingly stroke through his hair. "Michael must have confronted him," he concluded. "It's the best explanation I can think of for why he would abruptly eliminate his contact." He paused a moment, taking in a breath and letting it out slowly, "Tying up loose ends."

Crowley shivered, and Aziraphale held him tighter.

Aziraphale looked up at Hastur, suspicious. "Why would you bring this to us?"

Hastur was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the floor, and when he looked up again, he looked to Crowley, not Aziraphale.

"You're right," he stated. "You shouldn't be scared of me." He paused. "You shouldn't be scared _at all_. You're a bloody _demon_." Surprisingly, there was no derision or mockery in his words. Crowley raised his head to meet Hastur's eyes, as the demon continued, "It's just wrong. And I usually _like _wrong, but - not this." He was quiet for a moment. "I've never liked you."

"Mutual."

Crowley shrugged a little, his easy tone belying the anxiety Aziraphale could feel coming from him, the fine tremor where his body pressed against Aziraphale's side. Aziraphale would never have described Hastur as particularly perceptive, but there was a knowing trace of something that was _almost_ sympathetic in his expression.

"What happened to you... shouldn't have happened," he stated with the closest thing to conviction Aziraphale had ever heard from him. "Shouldn't happen to any of us. That bloody archangel's a threat - and not just to you. Best for all concerned if you lot take him out. There's pictures in the back there." He waved a hand toward the file as he headed toward the exit."The surveillance photos. In case you need evidence, after." He gave them a chilling smile as he opened the bookshop door. A steady rain had started to fall against the windows, and a low rumble of thunder punctuated the demon's words.

"Good luck with the murder."

Aziraphale didn't feel even the slightest inclination to object, as Hastur disappeared out into the night.

"So… he'll be coming, then. Soon."

Crowley's voice was unnaturally calm, and when Aziraphale turned to look at him, his eyes were wide, stricken. Aziraphale held his gaze, raising a hand to cup his cheek. Lies offered no safety, and no comfort, not to his brave, intelligent demon. He nodded once, solemn, honest.

"Yes."

Crowley let out a shuddering breath, lowering his head, momentarily hiding his eyes in his hand, and Aziraphale slid both arms around him, drawing him in close and holding him.

"He requires an invitation to get in," he reminded Crowley softly.

Crowley nodded against his shoulder.

"I'm going to stop him," Aziraphale insisted, quiet and certain. He pressed a kiss to the side of Crowley's neck, a deep ache in his throat when the demon turned into the kiss, then pressed his forehead against his angel's, soft, gasping little sobs slipping past his lips. "I promised you," Aziraphale whispered. "I promised you he'd never touch you again."

Crowley swallowed hard, nodding against Aziraphale's brow, trembling hands rising to run up and down the angel's arms as he tried to compose himself.

"You're going to stop him," he echoed firmly. "You _are_. That's… that's _everything_."

Aziraphale tried to take comfort in Crowley's unwavering faith in him - tried to reassure himself that it _was_ all that mattered, that it would be worth any sacrifice, to make sure that Crowley was _safe_. He held Crowley close in silence for a long while, and Crowley held onto him too, with quiet desperation… the two of them simply waiting together to face the gathering storm.

Hastur's gifts had been carefully put away.

The file was tucked into the bottom of the cash register. The useful sack of tools had been placed behind the counter, out of sight, on a low shelf next to the Hellfire-forged blade, wrapped now in a much cleaner cloth than the one in which it had arrived.

Aziraphale was standing at the cash register, trying to look busy counting the meager money that was in it - a difficult task, because how long could counting a bit of spare change possibly take? Crowley stood beside him, fidgeting with the pencils and calculator and other small items on the counter beside the register.

Still, they waited.

It was only a matter of time before Gabriel would show up, they knew - and not to make idle threats, not to posture and bluster and spout hurtful words. He'd apparently been confronted by Michael about his crimes. He'd gone to the trouble of eliminating his demon contact - evidence of his hypocrisy, Crowley thought with no small resentment. _Heaven's_ hypocrisy, too.

It was as he'd suspected: a willing, mindful demon spy that they might have to _pay_ was a bit too much trouble for Heaven, after all. They'd much rather have had a demon they knew they could trust to do their bidding - without question, even at the cost of his own life.

_They almost _did _have one..._

Crowley shook his head, trying to shut down his dark thoughts of the past - but his thoughts of the present and very near future weren't exactly any more comforting. Even when Aziraphale reached out to take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, his smile was tight and troubled.

They both knew - this time, the archangel would have no intention of leaving without what he'd come for.

They'd been waiting for it all night, but it was still a jarring shock when it happened.

The alarm went off in Crowley's head, and he looked up at Aziraphale with wide eyes - but the cars in the street beyond him had gone still, frozen in place, the soft raindrops half-fallen in mid-air.

And Aziraphale was motionless and quiet, his eyes looking past Crowley toward the bookshelves, his hand soft but still around Crowley's. Swallowing against the knot in his throat, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand gently before he reluctantly extricated his hand from it and headed toward the door. With his heart in his throat, he unlocked and opened it - and then just stood there, waiting.

Gabriel approached the door with an unhurried, leisurely pace. His expression was amused, speculative, when he found that he didn't have to open it himself, or even bother to knock.

"Expecting me?"

Crowley nodded once, facing the archangel with his gaze lowered. "Michael," he explained quietly. "She was here."

"Yeah." Crowley couldn't help flinching away from the quiet malice in Gabriel's low voice. "And like the easy little slut you are, you just couldn't resist opening your mouth, could you? Told her everything."

Crowley's mouth went dry, his pulse picking up a bit at the unmistakable fury in the archangel's posture and tone. He could practically _feel_ Gabriel's punishing grasp - shaking him by the arms until they were bruised, slamming him into the wall until his back was sore and aching.

_If you _ever… _tell _anyone _about _any _of this…_

He took an unconscious step back away from the door, swallowing so that he could force out a soft admission. "Yeah."

"I told you what would happen. Didn't I?"

They'd spent more than a year together. Gabriel was fairly skilled at predicting the path of Crowley's thoughts - or perhaps _dictating_ it, manipulating Crowley's reactions and responses until Crowley could no longer tell the difference between a thought that was his own, and an echo of his master's voice in his mind. Even now, sometimes, Crowley had a difficult time telling the difference. So many of his memories were obscured in a haze of pain and terror, responses learned for the sake of sheer survival.

The warm, close _reality_ of his life with his angel _now_ \- made everything clearer.

Still, the panicked, desperation of a captive slave in a dark cell, awaiting inevitable punishment, resonated in his mind.

_Answer, you're supposed to _answer, now, _before you make it worse! _

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice hushed and thick with dread. He hesitated, closing his eyes, taking another step backward. "But… you can't…"

"_Don't move_," Gabriel snapped.

Crowley immediately froze, his stomach plummeting through the floor.

Gabriel laughed softly, knowingly. "See, you haven't forgotten _everything_ I taught you."

"You can't hurt me," Crowley insisted, finally finding the voice to complete the quiet, trembling assertion. "You can't, anymore. I - I won't let you."

"_Let me_," Gabriel echoed, derisive, smirking. "Since when do you _let me _do anything?" His expression darkened, his tone becoming sharp and vindictive. "I've had a while now to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get you back to Heaven, and _let me_ tell you, sweetheart… I've got ideas. New things to try."

He gave Crowley's body a lazy, lascivious once-over that made the demon shudder, his heart lurching with fear when his gaze seemed to settle just over Crowley's shoulder, wistfully focused on something Crowley knew he couldn't see.

"You won't want to _let me_ do any of it," Gabriel stated, matter of fact. "But you're not going to have a lot to say about it." His mouth twisted, maliciously suggestive. "Or _anything at all _to say about it. Oh, you'll _want_ to. To beg. To apologize. To cry." He paused, shrugged a little. "I'll let you cry." His smile widened, sly and cruel. "Kind of looking forward to it. But I don't think I'll let you _speak _again for - well, maybe _ever_." His smile faded away, leaving only a dark, quiet rage that made Crowley feel like he was shaking apart inside. "You've said a bit too much lately as it is, don't you think?"

Crowley's lips parted to speak, but he realized with a cold shock of horror that he was on the verge of all of that right now. Apologizing. Begging. Tears. He forced his mouth shut again, swallowing down the knot in the back of his throat.

"And you know... it's not just you, _opening up_ for Michael," Gabriel mused. "It's your _lies_, little serpent. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised. It's what you do, isn't it? But I'm onto you now." He pointed an accusing finger at Crowley, though he was still smiling, as if amused at Crowley's characteristic deception. "I did some research into this whole sanctuary thing. I've had surveillance on this stupid little shop. And I've learned some interesting things." He raised his pointing finger in front of him. "Interesting thing number one: demons need an invitation to come into your shop, too."

Crowley felt sick with a surprising sense of regret as he found himself wondering if Hastur was still alive.

"Interesting thing number two," Gabriel continued, his smile fading away. "That means… you did the ritual _with_ Aziraphale. Which means… you _absolutely can _invite me in."

"I won't," Crowley said softly, shaking his head.

Gabriel's smile was nasty and menacing. "I think you will, sweetheart. Because I don't think you want your angel over there to get hurt." He nodded toward Aziraphale.

Crowley tried to slow his racing heart, tried to still his trembling, wrapping his arms around himself. "I won't let you in," he insisted in a hoarse whisper. "You can't hurt him if you can't get in."

"Wanna bet?"

Gabriel took something out of his jacket pocket, and Crowley looked up with dread - which began to swiftly spiral down into panic when he saw the small, glowing red vial in the archangel's hand. Impossibly burning, with nothing to consume, trapped within the mystical vessel - the flames of Hell, held between the archangel's forefinger and thumb.

"I can't get in. I can't use a miracle to hurt you. But… a centuries old building filled with nothing but wood and paper, burning to ash - that's not exactly a _miracle_, is it?" He grimaced, tilting his head as if actually asking. "Its poor owner frozen, helpless inside, burning with it - that's a little stranger, but… still not _technically _a miracle. At least, not a harmful one. There wasn't any fire when I stopped time."

Crowley stared at the flickering red light in Gabriel's hand, his mouth dry, his heart racing. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. "You can't do this. We've claimed sanctuary. Miracle or no - it's forbidden. His voice rose with every word, in pitch and pace, as panic wrapped its tendrils around his chest and squeezed tight. "You'd get in _so much_ trouble for a thing like that…"

"More trouble than I'm in now?" Gabriel countered, his false friendly smile vanishing, his voice rising with rage. "For keeping secrets from my superiors, for threatening your stupid principality over there, for fucking with time? For fucking _you_? You've fucking _ruined_ me!" He laughed, cold and angry and bordering on maniacal. "I can stop time, yeah - but the moment it starts again, there's consequences - for _your _actions, opening up your fucking mouth and bringing everything down around my head, and you want to know the kicker, sweetheart? The really ironic piece of the whole thing?" He pressed a hand against the invisible barrier, with his other hand flicking the top off the vial and letting it fall to the sidewalk at his feet. His tone was slow and measured, chilling Crowley's blood with every word.

"_Your actions_ have made it so that _you_… are _literally_ all I have left."

"No…" Crowley shook his head, backing away again.

"Not another step," Gabriel snarled, his hand tightening around the vial in his hand.

Crowley froze. "Just let him go," he whispered. "Don't hurt him, don't - don't burn the shop, I'll come out there to you, just…"

"No." Gabriel smiled, cold and furious. "No, you're not calling the shots here, sweetheart. Not _ever _again."

"But… I'll just come out to you and you can…"

"You're not coming out here. You're not _deciding_ what happens to this shop, to Aziraphale. You're going to _invite me in_. Because I told you to." Gabriel's voice fell, low and menacing. "_Now_."

Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale - still and silent behind the counter, eyes still focused on the shelf beyond him. He glanced back at the vial in Gabriel's hand, the flames so maddeningly close to the archangel's fingers… yet still a far greater threat to Aziraphale. So easy for Gabriel to just toss the thing inside, so many dry, old papers for it to catch on, and once it had caught…

He thought back over the past year he'd spent at Gabriel's mercy - the endless pain, the panic that seized him, stole his breath, filled him with desperation to please a master who was most pleased, always, with his suffering. _Eternity_ at Gabriel's mercy - and for Gabriel, eternity meant a whole lot longer than it did for others.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale once more, and his face fell, his eyes welling with tears.

There was only one choice that he could possibly make.

He stepped back a little more, further away from the door, his arms wrapped around himself, shaking, a cold ache in the pit of his stomach. His lips were trembling so that he could barely force the words out - but he _did _get them out, dread weighing at him the moment they escaped his mouth in a hoarse, defeated whisper.

"_Come in_."


	37. Chapter 37

"_Come in." _

Crowley's voice was hoarse, and broken, and desperate - and music to Gabriel's ears.

The barrier collapsed under his hand, but he made no move to immediately enter the bookshop. He could take his time. Stretch out the anticipation, the panic, until it _snapped_. Make sure by the time he actually _touched_ Crowley, his little demon slave would be a trembling, weeping wreck.

As it was, he didn't look far from it.

Even as Crowley backed away from him, his arms wrapped anxiously around his torso, Gabriel calmly reached down to pick up the cap for the vial in his hand from the sidewalk where it had landed, carefully putting it back on and tucking the vial safely into his pocket. He met Crowley's wide, terrified eyes with a sly, satisfied smile, straightened his jacket a little, and then finally stepped through the doorway into the bookshop.

Crowley took a couple more stumbling, rapid steps backward - and then turned and actually _ran_.

Gabriel blinked, stunned, more than a little taken aback. He knew he should have been angry, outraged at his slave's blatant defiance - but all he felt was a strangely pleased anticipation.

This was going to be _so satisfying._

"_Really_?"

He laughed out loud, hands in his pockets as he turned the corner down which Crowley had disappeared, making his way at a leisurely pace through the dozens of musty old shelves, the faint light from the main floor of the shop barely reaching their shadowed corners.

"This is pointless, Crowley. You know I'm going to find you. You're just dragging it out… and making it _so much worse_ for yourself when I do."

Crowley didn't answer, but Gabriel heard the soft, rushed shuffle of footsteps ahead of him and to his left. He paused a moment, smiling as he headed toward the sound.

"There's nowhere to run, my little serpent," he said, soft and warning. He shrugged. "Maybe if you actually _could be_ a little serpent right now, you might stand a chance… slip out between the stacks… but you can't. And every second you spend putting it off… resisting me like this… just gives me more time to think about... what I'm going to do to you when I catch you." He let out a low, soft chuckle. "Actually, on second thought… take your time." He paused a moment for emphasis. "I know _I'm_ going to."

He found Crowley in the very furthest corner of the shop - hemmed in by two massive, overstuffed bookshelves on either side. There was nowhere for him to go, his back pressed against the wall, his shaking hands held up in front of him in a pleading gesture. Gabriel gave him a patronizing, sympathetic smile, slowly closing in.

"_Please_," Crowley whispered, the word ending in a frightened little hiss that filled Gabriel with a rush of fondness for his wayward little slave.

Not that it was going to do Crowley any good. Quite the contrary. Gabriel was very much looking forward to taking him somewhere quiet and private where he could make him the full focus of his attention, and properly express his... _affection_.

"Please, let's just leave," Crowley begged him, his shoulders and his eyes falling, shrinking in on himself as Gabriel slowly closed the distance between them. "I'll - I'll go with you, anywhere, just - just leave Aziraphale alone…"

The principality's name was like ice water in Gabriel's face, coating his pleasure and satisfaction with a sick sheen of jealous anger. He was quiet until he reached Crowley - just another couple of steps - and took hold of his arms, pressing him back against the wall and shifting his larger body in close, enjoying the way Crowley just sort of _wilted_, trembling in his grasp.

"Yeah. You're going with me all right, sweetheart," Gabriel said quietly, raising a hand to brush his knuckles across Crowley's cheek, for the moment choosing to allow his violent flinch at the contact to go unpunished. "But if you think I'm just leaving Aziraphale here… to continue to _plague_ me with his very existence…" He tilted Crowley's chin up so he could better read the dawning, panicked understanding in the demon's wide golden eyes. "... then you _really _haven't been paying attention."

Crowley's mouth trembled. "You can't," he whispered, desperate. "You promised…"

"I promised _nothing_," Gabriel snapped, grasping Crowley's arms with both hands and slamming him into the wall with breathtaking force, leaning in close to bite off his words in the demon's face. "I _owe _you… _nothing_. I _own_ you. _Completely_." He slid one hand down to roughly grope at the front of Crowley's ridiculously tight jeans, smiling against his cheek when Crowley let out a soft, pleading whimper. "You get whatever the hell I choose to give you… and _I_ get… _everything_. _That's _how this works, sweetheart."

He kissed Crowley's cheek, feeling a hot rush of fury when Crowley twisted his face away from him, struggling weakly in his arms. Angrily he slammed him into the wall again, smiling cruelly at the sharp little cry of pain that escaped Crowley's lips at the impact.

"I think maybe you've forgotten," Gabriel whispered against his ear, sliding a hand around behind Crowley, toward his long-neglected mark. "So I'm going to remind you…"

Crowley's shaking hand shot down to grasp Gabriel's wrist, his other hand pressing against the archangel's chest as he actually tried to _push him away_ \- to _fight_ him. Gabriel stared in disbelief, barely registering the twinge of pain in his wrist where Crowley's nails dug in - and then the collar fired at a level 08... a brutally severe punishment in exchange for such a slight offense, even Gabriel had to admit, if he was being honest with himself.

Besides, he'd much rather administer punishment himself.

He shrugged a little inwardly. It didn't have to be one or the other. Both was good.

The pain from the collar stole Crowley's breath, his entire body spasming. But Gabriel held him through it, with his body pressed up against Crowley's, holding him against the wall, one firm hand at his waist, the other locked in his hair. As the pain slowly faded out, Gabriel let his hand go gentle, stroking soothingly through Crowley's damp hair as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the column of Crowley's throat.

When he was fairly certain the demon could hear him again, Gabriel tugged Crowley's head up, forcing him to meet his eyes, a softly vindictive smile on his lips.

"_That_ was a stupid move, wasn't it?" he observed, sympathetic, watching as Crowley struggled to regain his breath, staring up at him with wide, wary eyes.

Then he drew back his hand and slapped Crowley's face, hard, taking satisfaction in the way the blow smacked the back of his head into the wall and his knees nearly gave out beneath him. Gabriel pressed in close, supporting Crowley and restraining him at the same time, his fingers tightening in Crowley's hair and tilting his head back.

"And when I get you out of here," Gabriel continued, soft and menacing, relishing the little tremor that passed through Crowley's now unresisting frame, "I'll show you just _how_ stupid. But there's no hurry, is there? We have time. And what I want to do right now, before we go anywhere… is to make sure that your very last memory of this bookshop…" He slid his free hand down to Crowley's waist again, fingers running impatiently along the edge of the impossibly tight denim. "... is an eternal reminder… that I _fucking own you_."

Crowley flinched, choking back a despairing sob. Gabriel smiled, his voice soft and cruel as he amended, "Well… _second_ to last. Very last is going to be your precious angel… frozen in flames."

Crowley broke down, then, tears streaming from his eyes. "No," he pleaded. "No, don't…"

Gabriel backed off - just enough to smack Crowley again with dizzying force.

"You don't say no to me," he snapped, low and warning. "Get on your fucking knees. Right now."

A convulsive swallow visible in his throat, Crowley gave a jerky nod, and began to sink to his knees.

The sound of a creaking wooden floorboard that accompanied the motion should have made sense; for a moment Gabriel thought it did - until he realized…

… it was coming from _behind_ him.

He spun around in alarm - just in time to see Aziraphale behind him, swinging a blade near his head. He ducked back away from it on sheer instinct, not even thinking about his reaction before grabbing Crowley and pulling him up between the two of them, holding him close with an arm wrapped tight around his shoulders.

"_How_?" he demanded, breathless, his mind still reeling from what should have been an impossibility. "How are you awake right now? How are you doing this?"

The blade still poised in front of him, but withdrawn a little now that Crowley was in harm's way, Aziraphale smiled - but it was a tight, grim thing under eyes lit with fury. "You kept Crowley outside of time with you…"

"Seems we're a package deal these days." Crowley's voice was low and wobbly, his face still streaked with tears - but there was a quiet defiance in his words that Gabriel found infuriating. He drove his fist into Crowley's ribs hard, holding him up when his legs buckled.

"Do not strike him again," Aziraphale ordered, barely restrained rage in his voice, the blade extended a little further again.

"Or what?" Gabriel laughed. "What are you gonna do? Discorporate your one true love to get to me?" His smile faded, his words vicious and intent as he reached into his pocket, feeling for the shape of the right vial before withdrawing it - not the Hellfire, but the holy water. "I'll see your discorporation, and I'll raise you."

With one hand he snapped the cap off of the vial, allowing it to fall to the floor, holding it close to Crowley - who immediately tensed against him, eyes wide with dread and locked onto the vial. Aziraphale froze, then raised both his hands. His right hand still held the blade, but it was no longer aimed in Gabriel's direction.

"Don't." Aziraphale's voice was soft, pleading. "Don't hurt him. Please."

Gabriel laughed, leaning in close to Crowley's ear. "What do you think, sweetheart?" he sneered, low and intimate, relishing the feeling of Crowley's body shuddering against his own. "What are the chances of that?"

Crowley didn't speak. His face had gone pale and still, his breath a swift, shallow staccato; his brief attempt at bravado had vanished. Aziraphale looked as if he was going to be sick.

"Get out of my way," Gabriel ordered, tilting the vial just the tiniest bit in warning - and Aziraphale swiftly stepped aside, hands still raised. "I'll be going now… and taking my stolen property with me."

Crowley was crying again, silently, tears slipping down his face.

Good.

He was going to be doing a lot more of that. Gabriel _couldn't wait_ to just fucking _destroy_ him for all the trouble he'd caused.

"Get back," Gabriel ordered Aziraphale as he side-stepped past him so that his back was toward the shop exit - even if there was still a maze of bookshelves between him and it - and Aziraphale was the one in the corner, holding his effectively useless blade in his hands. "Good… very good," he said, his tone soothing, approving.

"Please," Aziraphale persisted, taking a cautious step forward, then glancing toward the holy water and halting. "Please, just… put the holy water away. I'll put down my blade, look…" He slowly did as he promised, setting the blade on the floor at his feet. "_Please_…" He met Gabriel's eyes, desperation in his gaze. "Please just… put it away."

Gabriel pretended to consider for a moment, drawing out the tension and terror, before shrugging a little.

"All right," he conceded, tossing the water out of the vial across the shop, where the only thing it could harm was a few of Aziraphale's stupid old books. He reached back into his pocket as if to put the empty vial away, while pressing a kiss to Crowley's temple. "No way I'm killing you, sweetheart," he whispered. "I just got you back. But, as for your angel…"

As he spoke, he traded one vial in his pocket for the other, and took out the Hellfire instead. He snapped off the cap with a malicious grin.

"_Goodbye,_ Aziraphale."

He tossed the vial down onto the nearest bookshelf, piled high with dry, ancient books, some with loose leaves tucked inside them, and watched with hungry eyes, waiting for the Hellfire to ignite the worthless mess of wood and paper… and take his hated rival with them.

_THREE DAYS EARLIER_

_Aziraphale sat quietly on the sofa, comfortable in the dim light of the small lamp beside him, his eyes, if not his mind, focused on the old novel open across his lap. It felt a bit strange to be reading for pleasure, for a change - but his research was done, and Crowley was busily tidying up the kitchen, tending to his little plant, getting ready to go to sleep. _

_He had just managed to focus his attention enough to actually _complete _a paragraph and move on to a new one, rather than reading it over three times, when he felt Crowley's hand, soft and light on his shoulder. _

"_Come to bed with me, angel?" _

"_In a minute, love," Aziraphale assured him, absently lifting Crowley's hand to his lips and kissing it before resting their joined hands against his shoulder again. _

"Aziraphale_." _

_The angel looked up at the intensity in Crowley's voice, actually taking him in - and he was a vision. He wore nothing but his soft, charcoal-gray pajama pants, hair loose and wild around his face, golden eyes bare, and solemn, and… vulnerable. His voice was low, a little hesitant, but so earnest and nearly pleading that it took Aziraphale's breath in the moment that he _understood_. _

"_Would you please… come to bed with me, angel. I - I want you to…"_

_His mouth dry, heart racing, Aziraphale set his book aside and rose to his feet. His fingers still clasped with Crowley's, he gently tugged him closer to him. "You mean…?'_

"_I'm inviting you, Aziraphale," Crowley confirmed with a shy little nod. "My angel… will you?" _

_Aziraphale slid his arm around Crowley's waist, releasing his hand to instead touch his face, searching his eyes. "You're sure." _

"_Of you? Always." _

"_Of this? Of us?" _

_Aziraphale's nerves were beginning to get the better of him. He'd waited for this moment, hoped for it, knew from their many quiet, private conversations in the safe, soft darkness of the bed they shared, that it was coming, and very soon. And still, he found himself caught off guard, inexplicably nervous. _

"_I'm ready," Crowley confirmed with a nod. "I am." _

_Aziraphale allowed Crowley to lead him by the hand into the bedroom, where they just stood there next to the bed, facing each other, for a long, weighted moment. Aziraphale took both of Crowley's hands in his. When he found them trembling, he raised them to his lips, kissing them gently, holding Crowley's gaze. Then he carefully placed Crowley's hands low on his own waist. _

"_You're in control," he reminded him softly. "Every moment of this. Every touch. You show me… how and where and when you want to be touched… and I'll do nothing more. Nothing will happen here, tonight, that you don't _want _to happen." _

_Crowley nodded, letting out a soft, shaky breath. _

_Carefully, gently reaching out with his mind to get a feel for Crowley's emotional state, Aziraphale found the reassurance he needed. He could feel apprehension in Crowley's aura, yes... but he could also feel his anticipation. Underlying his natural nervousness, Crowley was awash with desire, and an overwhelming sense of love - and _trust_. _

_It was breathtaking - how deeply Crowley trusted him. _

_He was ready. _

_Also breathtaking to Aziraphale was the almost shy, cautious way in which his sweet demon slid his jacket off his shoulders. Aziraphale couldn't possibly have cared less as it dropped to the dusty floor, pooled at his feet. Crowley continued to unbutton Aziraphale's vest and remove it, laughing a little when he reached his shirt. _

"_You wear entirely too much clothing, angel," he murmured, affectionate. _

_Aziraphale laughed too, then tugged at the waistband of Crowley's pants, pulling him in to kiss him tenderly. Crowley returned the kiss, first softly, then with greater intensity, one hand rising to rake slender, elegant fingers through Aziraphale's curls. With a soft, contented little gasp, Crowley drew away from the kiss, smiling as he took Aziraphale's hands and placed them firmly against his hips, before setting to work on the angel's trousers. _

_Aziraphale took the hint and slid the pajamas off of Crowley… and then they were both naked, standing beside the bed, holding each other, touching with gently exploratory fingers and lips. After a moment, Crowley withdrew, and Aziraphale swiftly removed his hands, waiting - stunned when Crowley revealed his wings. _

_Even as scarred as they were, they were gorgeous, gleaming black in the soft light of the bedside lamp, graceful and glorious - and Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat. His fingers ached to touch, and he repressed the desire for the moment. _

"_You don't have to," he whispered. Then, hesitant, searching, he asked, "Do you - do you _want _to?" _

_Crowley swallowed slowly. "I want… you to have all of me," he answered at last, looking up into Aziraphale's troubled eyes. He visibly weighed his words for a moment before explaining, quiet and certain, "I don't want him to have any part of me that you don't."_

_It wasn't exactly the conclusive affirmative he'd hoped for - but Aziraphale did understand. This was an important part of what they were doing - a reassurance, despite his misgivings, that Crowley would need in the years to come. Aziraphale revealed his wings as well, blushing a little at the hunger in Crowley's eyes as he allowed them to openly feast on the sight, roving slowly over the angel's wings for a moment before he stepped closer and reached out to cautiously touch. _

_Following his lead, Aziraphale reached out careful fingers to brush along the upper ridge of Crowley's wing, hesitant when he felt him shiver, but felt no fear or distress across their connection. His voice was hushed and reassuring, quiet in the stillness. _

"_If at any point you'd like me to stop…"_

_Crowley nodded, accepting. Then he pushed his wing up, firm, insistent, into his angel's hand. As he did, he stepped in closer, intensifying his own exploration of Aziraphale's wings, and the sensation was electric. Aziraphale couldn't quite stifle a soft moan of pleasure, and shivered himself when Crowley's lips curved into a pleased little smile against the bare skin of his shoulder. _

_The smile turned into a kiss, and Crowley mouthed his way slowly up the curve of Aziraphale's neck, sucking gently at his throat, before pulling away entirely, and Aziraphale was vaguely embarrassed at the rather undignified sound, rather like a _whine_, that escaped his lips at the loss of contact. _

_Crowley sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment, waiting until Aziraphale's hazy eyes met his before he carefully lay down on his back, holding his gaze. Aziraphale accepted the unspoken invitation, lying down beside Crowley, gently settling his weight on him and over him. _

_They lay there for a while, taking their time with lazy kisses and gentle touches, which slowly… slowly intensified, the stirring arousal low in Aziraphale's body met by a matching desire from Crowley - who, despite his apprehension and his clear nervousness, took the lead._

_Searching Aziraphale's mouth with deep, firm kisses. Guiding his angel's hands where he wanted them to go… and finally, eventually, guiding Aziraphale inside of him. Aziraphale moved slowly, firmly, gradually increasing his pace at the encouraging little sounds Crowley made… a soft, approving hum, a quiet moan of pleasure. Every now and then, Crowley would open his eyes wide, turning Aziraphale's face from whatever other part of him it may have been focused on to hold his gaze for a moment - and Aziraphale's admiration, his adoration for him swelled inside him - to know the horrors he had faced, the memories that certainly haunted his mind even in this moment… and how he managed, in this moment, to face them down. _

_He didn't point it out... not now, not here. _

_Reminders of Crowley's suffering had no place here. Aziraphale was going to have an eternal lifetime to tell his darling demon how very strong, how very brave he was. _

_This moment was meant for other words. _

"_I'm yours, angel," Crowley gasped out at last, when they were both on the edge, and the hoarse, fervent words made Aziraphale's heart stutter in his chest, his breath catch in his throat. "Of… my own will, I choose… to give myself to you. Body and soul. Eternally… completely. I'll love you… live with you… die for you… because I _choose _you. Over all others. Forever." _

_Aziraphale's mind was filled with his words for a long, long moment before he remembered: it was his turn. Somehow he managed to retain enough composure to say the words he'd agonized over, spending hours scribbling and then scribbling out with pencil until he had them just right. _

_And then scribbling them out again. _

_Here, now, his heart whispered to him, and he knew just what to say. _

"_I belong to you, Crowley," he said, voice thick with tears. "My darling, my love… all of myself, forever. I'm yours. I'll always love you… cherish you… protect you… choose you. Over all others. For all eternity. My life, my body, my soul - of my own will, I give myself to you." _

_Words spoken, he met Crowley's eyes as they continued to move together - and Crowley's golden eyes were glimmering with tears, his voice hushed and filled with simple honesty. _

"_I love you, my angel…" _

_It was all it took to send Aziraphale over the edge, his release spilling from him, and with it his grip on Crowley between them tightening, pulling just so that Crowley went with him, over the edge. Aziraphale collapsed against Crowley, his mouth at his neck, gasping or kissing or both, he didn't even have the mental faculties to tell, as they waited in bated, breathless silence. _

_And nothing happened. _

_At first. _

_Then, slowly, gradually - as if, all at once, it would have been too much to bear - they were surrounded by a warm, comforting glow of soft white light that seemed to come from inside of them. Overwhelming in its intensity, and yet infinitely reassuring. Not frightening, but peaceful as it welled up in them and spilled out over and around them. _

_For just an instant, Aziraphale felt a sharp burn on his chest - not painful, just a startling flash of heat that was there one moment, and then gone the next. In the same moment that he felt it, he heard Crowley gasp, and looked down at Crowley's chest, white-hot glow fading away to leave only a mark in its place. _

_Their mark. The symbol of their union, and the vows they had made. _

_Aziraphale had loved Crowley for centuries, though he'd known it for far less - but the love he felt in this moment was so powerfully overwhelming he could scarcely contain it. The _relief _he felt, at the clear sign of Her approval, that they had done no wrong in choosing to love each other. Aziraphale broke down weeping, but not with sorrow - only joy and relief and love. _

_All the same emotions that he could feel pouring off of Crowley, mingling with his own between them, around them. He looked down at Crowley, gently brushing away the tears from his demon's face, wrapping his wings around them both and simply reveling in the connection, the shared power of their overwhelming emotions. _

_And he realized all at once, with startling clarity: this was not new. Not to them. _

_He and Crowley had always been able to do this - to share their emotions with each other. For a while he'd explained it away, believing it was something any angel or demon could do, if they only learned how - but he now knew that to be untrue. All his research indicated that it was an uncommon thing among angels, supposed to be a unique, distinct result of the bond they'd just formed. _

_A bond that, somehow, impossibly - they'd _always _had, though they'd tried to hide it, tried to protect themselves from the consequences of being found out, so that they could continue to enjoy it, to enjoy each other, to _be together.

_Always hiding, always secret… and despite all, eventually suffering for it. _

_But now - they bore Her seal of approval. She had joined them together. _

_And woe to anyone who attempted to tear them asunder._

_At long last, they separated - slow, unhurried, still swept up in the hazy, sleepy afterglow of their union. Aziraphale snapped his fingers to clean up the mess, as Crowley carefully sat up on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale turned on his side just to look at him - and his eyes went wide as he really took in the sight, really focused on what he was seeing. As he watched, Crowley reached a hand around behind himself, tentatively searching fingers… finding nothing. _

_Crowley went still. "Aziraphale…" _

_Aziraphale sat up straight, staring at Crowley with wide eyes as Crowley turned to face him. _

"_It's _gone_," Crowley whispered, stricken with shock._

"_Yes," Aziraphale whispered back, nodding, his eyes slowly moving over Crowley's wings… over his skin… _

_Beautifully whole. _

"_All your scars, my love," Aziraphale said softly, unsure if Crowley had realized - and judging by the way his eyes widened with understanding, he hadn't. "They're gone. They're all gone."_

_Crowley stared at him for a long moment that stretched taut between them - until it _snapped_, and Crowley broke down, weeping, trembling hands rising to cover his face. Aziraphale slid close to wrap his arms around him, running soothing fingers through his hair and holding him close for a while, as he processed the shock. _

_Beneath it, Aziraphale could feel his overwhelming relief, his gratitude, sheer joy at being freed from the physical symbols of Gabriel's false, now eternally invalidated ownership. He held him until the burst of shocked tears had faded, and then drew away a little, gently brushing Crowley's hair back from his face, taking both of his hands in his. _

"_Do you know what this means, love?" _

_Crowley still looked bewildered, overcome. He couldn't seem to find words to speak, though his lips parted to try - but Aziraphale could _feel _what he was thinking, even before he managed to choke out a hoarse whisper, so full of emotion that it almost hurt to hear it. _

"_It - it means - that _She…"

_Aziraphale nodded slowly, his heart aching with love and with intense gratitude to a Deity he'd very near given up entirely - because he could feel the thoughts, the emotions that Crowley couldn't quite put into words - and Crowley was feeling things that in 6000 years, Aziraphale had _never _felt from him before. _

_Validated. _

_Worthy. _

Forgiven.

_Aziraphale rose up on his knees on the bed, cradling Crowley's face with both hands to kiss him deeply before looking into his eyes, drinking in, for the first time in months… his rising confidence, his unbridled hope. He could nearly feel the light of triumph in his own eyes, could feel it stirring in his chest as he whispered with firm certainty and conviction, _

"_It means _we're going to win_."_


	38. Chapter 38

"_Come in_."

They were the most difficult two words Crowley had ever had to force himself to speak - but he knew that he had to do it. It was a necessary part of the plan - to get Gabriel into the shop, and then to get him away from the front counter where Aziraphale was standing, out of sight so that Aziraphale could move freely, could sneak up behind him and strike.

He didn't want to think about the shameful suspicion in the back of his mind that he _might _have done it anyway, if Aziraphale had truly been frozen with time, helpless in the face of the Hellfire in Gabriel's hand.

He didn't have to fake the terror that overwhelmed him - instinctive, natural at this point, once Gabriel had cornered him. His heart raced, a sick pit in his stomach, as he stared into the smiling face of the monster whose eyes he could still see so vividly when he closed his own… whose phantom touch filled his sleep many nights, only swept away by the warmth of his angel's hands, his sleep-hoarse voice drawing Crowley from his nightmares.

But this was no nightmare.

This was here, and now, and _real_ \- and it didn't matter that he'd invited Gabriel inside, led him to this farthest corner of the shop, on purpose. It didn't matter that Aziraphale would be here any moment, ready to fight Gabriel for Crowley's eternal freedom.

Nothing mattered but the feeling of Gabriel's hands, grasping at him. Gabriel's body pressed in close against his. Gabriel's low, menacing words in his ear, promising suffering and degradation and… worst of all… the death of his angel.

_He can't, Aziraphale's not frozen, Aziraphale will stop him…_

Still Crowley pleaded, tears on his face, a familiar, hopeless panic creeping in around the edges of his thoughts. And it wasn't an act, or a distraction, but the archangel's all-consuming power over him - power to crush his fledgling confidence, power to overcome him with such suffocating, overwhelming terror that he couldn't move, couldn't speak, could barely draw breath.

Gabriel's greedy hands groped at him, his eager, devouring mouth reasserting his claim - and Crowley _did_ move, did try to twist out of his grasp, try to turn his face away. But it was only when Gabriel's hand reached around him, toward the mark that was no longer there, that Crowley knew he _had _to stop him. He had no intention of hurting Gabriel, not really; he wanted to remain conscious and aware and _useful_ for the coming showdown between his former master and his current husband.

But he must have hurt Gabriel, at least a little, despite his intentions - because the collar fired with brutal, breathtaking force, and Crowley nearly collapsed - would have, if not for Gabriel holding him up. The searing, overwhelming punishment of the collar - the vicious blows that followed - they took Crowley right back to that cold, dark cell, right back to a time when he had truly been at the archangel's mercy.

But it was Gabriel's threatening _words_ \- the same threat he'd used what felt like an eternity ago, to secure Crowley's silence - the vivid mental image of Aziraphale, his angel, helpless and dying in flames while he was powerless to do anything but _watch_…

It broke Crowley now, as it had broken him then… and he _forgot_. Forgot the plan, forgot that Aziraphale _wasn't _helpless, that Gabriel wasn't going to leave this place alive.

"No," he sobbed out, pleading, desperate. "No, _don't_…"

The sharp slap across his face stung, but it wasn't the source of the fresh tears that sprang to his eyes.

"You don't say no to me," Gabriel snapped, low and warning.

_Stupid, you know better, just shut your stupid fucking mouth…_

"Get on your fucking knees," Gabriel ordered. "Right now."

Obedience was the most natural thing in the world, and Crowley sank down against the wall behind him, desperately submissive. Maybe if he could be good enough, maybe if he could show Gabriel he was sorry enough, maybe he could somehow earn mercy for his angel.

Not for him. There would never be any mercy for him - but for Aziraphale…

_Aziraphale. _

A halo of bright, shining light through the stacks surrounding his head, a vaguely familiar sword in his hand - every bit the picture of an avenging angel, Aziraphale stood behind Gabriel, his eyes fierce with protective anger, his stance all power and fury and deadly intent. And he swung the sword, and all at once, memory and clarity and realization came flooding back to Crowley's mind.

He was not the one who should have been afraid.

He wasn't, somehow - even when Gabriel grabbed him and held him in front of him, like a shield - the fucking _coward_. He could see it clearly now, could feel it in the faint tremor of Gabriel's body, in his tightly clutching hands - the archangel was panicking. He could hear it in his voice as he demanded an explanation for how this could be happening, how he could be standing here faced with the _impossibility_ of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who actually looked more frightened than Crowley felt at the moment, lowering his sword a little in the face of Gabriel's threat. Crowley kept his head, kept still, and even managed the courage to talk back to Gabriel, throwing their bond in his face - though Gabriel still didn't seem to grasp what it all really meant.

It was only when he brought out the holy water that Crowley felt the fear trickling down his spine again. And when Aziraphale raised his hands, the weapon in them rendered useless, pleading with Gabriel not to hurt him - Crowley's hopes began to collapse around him.

_No, angel, no, don't give up, don't let him do this to you..._

"What do you think, sweetheart?" Gabriel taunted him softly, and Crowley couldn't suppress a shiver. "What are the chances of that?"

They both knew: the chances of Gabriel _not hurting him_ were non-existent - regardless of Aziraphale's surrender.

The anguished, helpless look on his angel's face broke Crowley's heart - and for a moment, his faith. His heart sank as Gabriel maneuvered his way around Aziraphale, backing them both toward the door. Tears welled in his eyes, obscuring his vision as Aziraphale actually laid down his blade, relinquishing it in exchange for Gabriel's discarding the holy water.

Crowley _understood_ Aziraphale's choice.

Aziraphale laid down his weapon, surrendered to Gabriel, for the same reason that Crowley had not.

Crowley had no doubt that Aziraphale could have withstood all manner of threats against his own person, in Crowley's defense. But the threat of Crowley's horrific, eternal destruction was enough to drive all his confidence, all his plans, from his mind. It was enough to draw tears to Aziraphale's eyes and desperate pleas from his lips.

Crowley had been there, had spent a fucking _year_ there - and this was where it all had led him.

This was the _mercy_ submission had earned him.

_No, don't do what he wants, angel, you have to fight, you have to_ try…

"Goodbye, Aziraphale."

Crowley's heart leapt up into his throat, panic seizing him when Gabriel tossed down the vial of Hellfire onto the nearest stack of books. He could envision how swiftly they would catch, how the flames would devour the books and the shelf and then Aziraphale, backed into a corner and unable to safely get past the flames.

Aziraphale would burn. Crowley would be taken back to Heaven - or wherever it was Gabriel intended to flee to.

Gabriel would win - the moment the flames lit.

By some miracle… they didn't.

The vial fell onto the shelf where Gabriel had cast it, the red glow of the flames spilled out onto the books - and then extinguished itself with a soft puff of breath, without leaving so much as a wisp of smoke, or a single scorch mark.

It was most definitely a miracle - but Crowley couldn't guess whose. Angels didn't possess the power to counteract the effects of Hellfire - and at the moment, he didn't have the power to perform a miracle of that size at all.

And yet - the bookshop wasn't burning.

Aziraphale was safe.

Gabriel seemed as stunned as Crowley was, his body still, not even breathing behind Crowley as he stared at the spot where flames should have been. His arm went slack - just a little - just _enough_ \- and in a moment of total clarity, Crowley realized that he had to _do something_.

Hellfire or no Hellfire, Gabriel had every intention of walking out of the bookshop with him and taking him away. Aziraphale's presence, awake and alert here with them despite the time stop, meant that his theory was correct: wherever Gabriel took Crowley, Aziraphale would likely be taken as well.

But that was not really all that comforting a thought for Crowley.

Once outside the walls of the sanctuary, Gabriel would be free to perform whatever harmful miracles he chose - and in terms of sheer power, he far outranked Aziraphale. Crowley shuddered to think of the level of torment the archangel would inflict on him and his husband if he managed to get the two of them outside the doors of the bookshop.

This moment, _right now_, with Gabriel stunned by the Hellfire's failure, and still within the restrictions of the sanctuary - was the only chance Crowley was going to get.

There wasn't a lot he could do.

Any miracle he could think of that would be remotely helpful was beyond the limits of his power at the moment. The collar meant that physical resistance would be instantly punished. But Gabriel had taught Crowley an incredibly important lesson:

He was strong enough to fight through the pain.

If he could struggle through the intensity of a level 08 punishment to hurt _himself_ \- he could most certainly do so to hurt _Gabriel_, to _protect Aziraphale_. Of course, the collar's restrictions had been increased since the time of Michael's test. Crowley knew that the moment he moved against Gabriel, it would fire. A single attempt was likely to leave him incapacitated, unable to help any further.

_Right, then… better make it count the first time. _

Crowley braced himself for the pain - and then slammed his head backward into the archangel's face with as much force as he could muster. The pain came before the impact - and Crowley thought it was probably a _good_ sign that he could _actually feel _the pain of the collision even through the collar's punishment.

That meant Gabriel was feeling it too.

Gabriel's arm around his shoulders fell away, and Crowley collapsed to his knees, instinctively crawling out of the way, up against the bookshelf at his side, as fiery agony bloomed in Crowley's skull and swiftly spread throughout his whole body. Aziraphale immediately moved in to take advantage of the opening Crowley had given him. Through the haze of pain that flooded over him, Crowley was vaguely aware of the fight - and he realized something even through the slowly dissipating fog, something important.

Something _glorious_.

With miraculous acts of violence taken off the table - Aziraphale, his fierce, powerful warrior angel - was at an advantage. Gabriel was the Messenger - a bureaucrat more comfortable in a plush office than on the battlefield. Perhaps Michael could have taken Aziraphale down - but Gabriel didn't stand a chance against the Angel of the Eastern Gate, the Guardian of Eden.

Gabriel was really only any good against an opponent who couldn't fight back.

Aziraphale didn't hesitate, moving in quickly to release a flurry of blows that didn't allow Gabriel the opportunity to recover from the pain of Crowley's attack, or his utter disbelief that Crowley had _actually attacked him_.

Crowley was fairly certain that of the two shocks to Gabriel's system, the latter had the greater impact.

The pain faded out slowly, and Crowley blinked as he looked up, his vision focusing just in time to see Aziraphale land two satisfyingly solid blows to Gabriel's face, and then sweep his legs out from under him with a foot hooked around his ankle. The archangel landed flat on his back, winded, but well within reach of Crowley.

Crowley tensed, anticipating retaliation - but Gabriel reached past him, for Aziraphale's discarded sword. Crowley's heart lurched, and he instinctively reached out to stop him - but Aziraphale's shoe came down hard on Gabriel's wrist, blocking his attempt and eliciting a groan of pain from the archangel.

"I'll kill you," Gabriel snarled in furious frustration, his free hand reaching uselessly to dislodge Aziraphale's foot.

With a grim smile, Aziraphale only ground his heel in harder, and Gabriel let out an outraged growl of pain, falling onto his back as Aziraphale reached down and retrieved the sword that remained an inch from the archangel's grasp. Calm, somehow appearing utterly unruffled despite his unusually rumpled hair and clothing, and the smear of blood at the corner of his lip, Aziraphale held up the blade, examining it with mild amusement, as he very deliberately moved to stand between the fallen archangel and his kneeling husband.

"With this?" he scoffed quietly. "Not likely. Discorporation is the worst it could do to the likes of us. Though I dare say it puts on quite a better light show than yours."

That was when Crowley was sure; he'd suspected already, but now he knew why the sword was familiar.

It'd been in Aziraphale's hand the first time he'd seen him.

Aziraphale met Crowley's eyes with a warm, reassuring smile, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, giving an expectant nod toward the sword, as if to ask, "_Well? Where's the light show?" _

Aziraphale looked immediately aghast, shaking his head a little in refusal. "Not in front of the _books_," he explained with mild horror at the thought.

His expression softened, his free hand reaching down to rest at the back of Crowley's head, and he closed his eyes for a moment, pressing instinctively into the touch in utter relief before looking up with grateful adoration into his angel's eyes…

"Are you all right, darling?" Aziraphale asked, his tender concern a sharp contrast to the cold, fierce anger on his face as he turned his watchful gaze back toward Gabriel, who was carefully dragging himself up to a half-sitting position on the floor. "No farther," Aziraphale instructed in a quietly dangerous tone that made the disarmed archangel freeze where he was.

"Yeah." Crowley nodded wearily, holding his head as he climbed to his feet, still catching his breath, though by this point the pain had completely faded away.

"So you found your flaming sword." Gabriel sounded hoarse and exhausted and far worse than Crowley felt, but there was still a note of mockery in his words. "Not all that impressive at the moment."

"No, not really," Aziraphale agreed, sounding almost bored as he held up the blade and examined it idly. "Relatively harmless to angels. Even flaming, it wouldn't kill you… and I'm not going to risk my books for a bit of flash."

Crowley shrugged a little. He was of the opinion that a well-placed bit of flash could be extraordinarily effective sometimes - but he knew how his angel felt about his books.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the sword vanished. Immediately, he reached into his coat, and pulled out the bronze Hellfire dagger, smiling as he held it up and it gleamed red in the light.

"This, on the other hand… will most definitely kill you." He smiled at Gabriel, deadly cold. "But I'd prefer it didn't quite yet."

He snapped his fingers again, and a silver chain with shackles at either end appeared in his free hand.

Hastur's gift.

The chain was light, the cuffs slim, but strong, and Crowley knew by the Enochian sigils etched all down the length of the chain and around the circumference of the cuffs that they would most certainly hold an archangel. Gabriel stared at the items in Aziraphale's hands, looking increasingly uneasy.

It was a strangely surreal thing for Crowley to see - the first sparks of _genuine fear_ on Gabriel's face.

He couldn't bring himself to look away.

"Up onto your knees," Aziraphale instructed, his tone hard and warning, and Gabriel warily complied, his gaze drifting back and forth between Aziraphale and Crowley. "I'm going to put these on you," Aziraphale went on calmly. "And I wouldn't suggest you resist while I'm holding this dagger. The blade is quite sharp, and the slightest slip could result in…"

"No, angel." Crowley interrupted softly. "Don't."

Gabriel gave Crowley a sharp look, disgust in his eyes, and Crowley had to look away, his mind abruptly flooded with the memory of how _Gabriel_ would have reacted if Crowley had cut him off like that - and with a "_no_", no less. Crowley looked up into his angel's face instead - and felt an immediate rush of relief. There was nothing but mild surprise and concern in Aziraphale's eyes as he waited patiently for Crowley to go on - and stunning, empowering… a quiet sort of respect.

Aziraphale valued Crowley's input. He _wanted_ to hear what his demon had to say.

Strengthened, Crowley very deliberately looked back at Gabriel, meeting his eyes as he clarified quietly, "Make _him_ put them on."

Gabriel's eyes widened with surprise, and then his mouth twisted into a bitter, knowing smile. He let out a low, hateful laugh, shaking his head slowly. "You little bitch."

Crowley flinched slightly, looking away from the archangel and at Aziraphale instead. Gabriel clearly thought it was about payback - about a cold, dark room fitted only with chains that bit into Crowley's fingers and then tore into his wings.

And, maybe it was. A little.

But it was about more than that.

"Don't get too close to him," Crowley clarified quietly, focusing on the warm blue of Aziraphale's eyes. "Not 'til he's wearing them."

Aziraphale's expression softened with understanding, and he nodded, holding Crowley's gaze as he tossed the chains at Gabriel. "Put them on."

Gabriel snatched the chains out of the air, a moment before they would have hit him in the face. Resentful and angry, he glared up at Aziraphale for a moment before allowing a sly smile to cross his lips.

"I wonder how I'll chain your wings up next time, now that the rings are gone," he mused, and Crowley's heart clenched painfully in his chest. "I can think of a few interesting ways." He looked up to meet Crowley's eyes, vindictive cruelty in his own. "Believe it or not… those rings made it easy on you."

Crowley felt the bookshelf at his back, gripped onto it with trembling fingers, looked away as he swallowed back the wave of nausea that rolled up into his throat.

Aziraphale silenced the archangel with the tip of the dagger to his throat.

"All it takes is the slightest slip," he repeated, very softly. "I'd suggest you remain silent. And put those on."

Gabriel kept very still, looking up at Aziraphale - and then closing his eyes in defeat. Aziraphale stepped back again, and Gabriel sighed in resignation as he locked the cuffs onto his own wrists in front of him. Once he had finished, Aziraphale immediately moved in close again, the blade once more at Gabriel's throat. He made a little sound of indignant protest that choked off as Aziraphale used the flat of the blade to tilt his head back.

"Check them, darling?"

Aziraphale's tone made the words a request, not a command - and the trace of panic in Gabriel's eyes at the proximity of the blade was _immensely_ reassuring. Crowley carefully closed the distance between himself and Gabriel, reaching out with trembling hands to test the tightness and security of the chains. Gabriel's smug, knowing smile, despite his helpless position, took Crowley's mind back to the moment when Gabriel had tested the chains on his wings in much the same way - the cold terror of punishment if they weren't tight enough, or if by some mistake he hadn't secured them properly.

Crowley nodded, a little shaky as he stepped back away from Gabriel. "We're good."

Aziraphale withdrew the blade and stepped back, and Gabriel lowered his head, still smiling.

"Okay, so that trick with the Hellfire was impressive, I'll admit." He looked expectantly between the two of them. "How'd you pull it off?"

Crowley had no bloody idea - but Aziraphale didn't seem even slightly as confused as he was. He just smiled coolly at Gabriel and did not respond.

"Fine, don't tell me." Gabriel shrugged, his smile fading. "Gotta say - this is really stupid, guys. Have you thought about what you're doing? What, you're just going to _murder me_ \- slowly and painfully, make me suffer, etcetera…" He made his voice exaggeratedly low and threatening, then rolled his eyes. "And then what? Stay frozen in time forever? Crowley can't start time again with that collar on - and I'm _not_ taking it off him."

Aziraphale's mouth twitched slightly, eyes alight with quiet fury. "Oh, I believe you might."

"Aziraphale could do it. Start time."

Both Gabriel and Aziraphale looked at Crowley in surprise, and he shifted uneasily under the scrutiny, eyes downcast for a moment before he looked up at his angel, who was giving him a questioning look.

"Anyone could, if they just knew it. Believed it."

Aziraphale blinked, taking that information in for a moment, before looking back toward Gabriel with a satisfied smile. "Well, there you have it." His smile faded as he amended, "But I do think I rather like time the way it is. For now."

A little chill went down Crowley's spine at the expression on his angel's face, as he realized - in this case, having stopped time was very much working _against_ Gabriel. The Enochian sigils on the chains he wore meant that he couldn't start time again himself… and Aziraphale was in no rush. He clearly wanted to be sure that Gabriel's punishment was at least somewhat adequate to the level of his crimes.

And _absolutely no one_ would be coming to the archangel's rescue.

Gabriel's grin was defiant, unbothered. "Kinky," he remarked, raising his eyebrows and looking at Crowley.

Crowley shuddered and looked away.

"Stop it," Aziraphale snapped, cold and angry when he saw Crowley's reaction - but he made no move to actually stop him.

"Oh, come on," Gabriel objected, light and amused. "He likes it that way. Don't you, sweetheart?" His smile faded, his tone and expression vicious. "Sure _begs_ for it like he likes it."

Crowley flinched, feeling the accusation like a blow. Awash with shame, his face felt hot, his mouth thick and clumsy as he opened it to argue, but couldn't seem to find the words.

Aziraphale had them. "It's not as if you gave him a choice." His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, but he visibly restrained himself from striking. "You _tortured_ him until he said what you wanted him to say."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised that Crowley had been so open with Aziraphale about the details. "Sometimes," he conceded. His voice lowered, deceptively casual. "Other times - he volunteered. Sweet little whore. _Suggested_ it, if he thought I was getting pissed off. Did he tell you _that_? How he'd rather let me fuck him than get smacked around a little?"

"And then you'd do both." Crowley's words came out choked and trembling, bitter with pain and resentment. "I-I'd offer, and - and you'd hurt me anyway."

"Not _every_ time, though." Gabriel's voice was soft, almost affectionate with remembrance. "Sometimes you got just what you wanted… didn't you, sweetheart?"

Aziraphale's voice rose a little, shaking with fury. "_Do not _call him that again."

"I will if I want to. He's mine."

Gabriel's voice was quiet, composed - so _certain_ that it sent a shiver through Crowley, a cold tightening in his chest.

_No, I'm not, it's not true…_

"He isn't.."

"We know better, right, _sweetheart_?" Gabriel grinned up at Aziraphale for a moment before focusing in on Crowley. "You'll always belong to me. With me. Even if I'm gone…"

_No, no, it's not true, I'm not his…_

"You go where I go," Gabriel continued. "If I die, you'll die too, did you know that? And if I go to Heaven - or Hell, or wherever - you'll go there, too."

"That's a lie, you know it is." Aziraphale's voice was quiet, reassuring, his words directed toward the echoes of the lies in Crowley's head, rather than their source.

"Keep telling yourself that," Gabriel sneered, quiet and taunting. "But that mark on your back tells you something different… we both know what it means…"

"_No_!" Crowley shouted all at once. "_Liar_, I'm _not_ yours! I _never_ was!"

Before he even knew he was going to move, he was towering over the kneeling archangel, and _oh how satisfying_ it was when Gabriel actually flinched, perhaps more out of surprise than fear, but _still _Crowley felt strong and powerful, because he had the _truth_ in his corner, the certainty that Gabriel's _bullshit _was just that - lies designed to keep him in chains of fear and shame.

Crowley was _free_ now.

And it was time Gabriel knew it.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the black shirt he was wearing disappeared. At the same moment he allowed his wings to burst forth - gloriously whole, gleaming in the light. Beautiful, flawless without a trace of a scar. Adrenaline overwhelmed the instinctive fear Crowley felt at the idea, and he deliberately turned his back to the archangel, trusting Aziraphale to protect it - because Gabriel had to _see_, had to _know_.

"_No_…" Gabriel whispered, disbelief and dawning horror in his words. "How did you… what…"

Crowley turned around again - and immediately felt a little dizzy, breathless, his knees wobbly and weak. Aziraphale quickly tucked the blade away and put both arms around Crowley's waist from the side, catching him, holding him steady, a concerned question in his eyes as he studied him closely. It had been only a small miracle, but in combination with the beating he'd taken earlier, with the slight exertion of exposing his wings, with the fading adrenaline rush…

"Maybe I didn't… think that through," he admitted wearily, leaning into his angel's embrace.

"Your shirt _does_ have buttons," Aziraphale agreed, ruefully sympathetic. Hushed and private, he asked, "Want it back?"

Crowley nodded. "Yes, please."

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Crowley was wearing his shirt again. "Your wings?" he asked softly.

Crowley glared at Gabriel, weary but defiant, quietly triumphant. "Leave them."

Gabriel was still stunned by what he'd seen. Horrified - and _furious_.

"What did you _do_?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "How did you - why is that…" He gestured with his bound hands toward Crowley's chest, struggling to rise.

He managed to get onto one knee before Aziraphale reached out with one foot to kick Gabriel's leg out from under him, sending him gracelessly back down.

"We carried out the bond as it was meant to be done," Aziraphale explained.

"This mark is _real_," Crowley agreed. "Not a lie, like yours."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed, as he began to understand. "And that's why Aziraphale isn't frozen in time," he concluded.

"Whither he goest…" Aziraphale paraphrased, meeting Crowley's eyes with a warm smile, raising one hand to gently stroke through his hair as he touched his brow to Crowley's. "... I will go."

Some deep-seated instinct reminded Crowley, nagging at the corners of his mind, that this contact, this tenderness would make Gabriel _furious_. A month earlier, he would have pulled away from Aziraphale in panic, terrified of the archangel's retaliation. Now, he glanced down at Gabriel's impotent fists, clenched white-knuckled in the chains that bound them.

And Crowley _smiled_ in weary satisfaction.

"So you've traded in one master for another," Gabriel sneered, his voice rising with agitation. "Good job, sweetheart. Let's hope it takes him a good long while to see what a worthless investment he's made…"

The words didn't even sting.

"He's not my master," Crowley pointed out, almost idly, utterly unconcerned.

Aziraphale tilted his head toward Gabriel without breaking contact with Crowley, his eyes glowing blue-white - and for a moment, the mark under his clothes glowed with them, miraculously clear even through his clothes, so that Gabriel could make no mistake.

"He's my _husband_."

The archangel's eyes went wide with horror as he drew in a slow breath.

"Oh, sweetheart," he began, his voice low but trembling with rage, a vicious smile twisting his lips under eyes that glittered with malice. "Whores don't get husbands. You are what you are - a filthy, treacherous little serpent. An unfaithful slut who'll spread his legs for whoever's making the best offer at the moment. And he'll see that, in time."

Crowley flinched a little, but closed his eyes and leaned harder into Aziraphale, whose arms wrapped tighter around him, wordless encouragement to shut out Gabriel's verbal brutality and focus on him.

Still, traces of the archangel's venomous words made their way through, piercing through to Crowley's heart. Gabriel's voice rose with his frustrated fury as he helplessly watched them embrace, and all he could do was lash out with his well-aimed, ruthless words.

"How long do you think he'll be willing to compete with my memory? Because like it or not - it'll still be there. Every time he reaches out to touch you a little too quickly, and you flinch away from him. Every time you fall apart when he's fucking you because all you can feel is _me_. Every time you wake up in the middle of the night screaming '_master'_… because I _always will be_, sweetheart, you will _always be mine_!"

Tears streaked Crowley's face, but he blinked them away to look into Aziraphale's eyes, as his angel held his face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs, leaning in to softly kiss his lips, before drawing back, his intent gaze filled with his adoration and admiration for the brave, trembling demon he held in his arms.

Aziraphale didn't have to speak a word to prove Gabriel wrong.

"Maybe the holy water mark is gone," Gabriel conceded with a careless shrug belied by the way his voice shook with his helpless rage. "But that was always the _least_ of the marks I left on you, wasn't it, sweetheart? I _fucking broke_ you. I tore every part of you to shreds and then put you back together how _I_ wanted you." He smiled cruelly, shaking his head slowly. "And there's no fixing that. Not _ever_. Whatever you've done to each other… those new marks you made are meaningless. Yeah, maybe you can't see mine anymore… but it's still there. Always will be. Under your skin."

Crowley was weeping softly, unable to deny the hurt of the words - though the gentle, loving touch of his angel's hands, his mouth, the love in Aziraphale's eyes, were healing balm that soothed away the sting. Aziraphale raised both arms and put them around Crowley's shoulders, one hand protectively cupping the back of his head as he softly kissed his temple, and then turned his head away.

"Is it enough?" He raised his voice just a little, his words heavy and weary with the weight of Crowley's pain - and Crowley was uncertain as to what he meant, or even who he was speaking to. "You've seen. You've heard, from his own lips. Is it enough?"

Crowley drew back a little, frowning with confusion, searching Aziraphale's face.

Aziraphale didn't look at him, his gaze pensive and expectant and angled just past Crowley, staring at nothing.

And then, a column of brilliant white light appeared just behind where Gabriel knelt, the face of a man flickering to life in the center of it. Gabriel turned on his knees to face it, staring in disbelief. Crowley had been an angel once, and he knew without being told what the other angels in the room also knew - that this was the Metatron, the conduit to the Almighty.

He couldn't bring himself to look directly at the Metatron, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the sense of holiness and power that flowed out from the light. He glanced uncertainly toward Aziraphale, instinctively seeking reassurance - and wasn't quite sure whether or not he'd found it in the realization that Aziraphale was the only one in the room unsurprised.

"How - I don't - _how_…?" Gabriel sputtered, disbelieving.

"There's something you haven't considered about all this," Aziraphale pointed out quietly by way of explanation, as Gabriel cast a wild, panicked gaze over his shoulder to meet his eyes. Aziraphale smiled, serene. "These marks - we didn't make them."

Gabriel's eyes widened with dawning, horrified realization before he turned back to face the Metatron.

Crowley shifted instinctively closer to Aziraphale, who responded by drawing him in against his side, his arm around him firm and protective - though it was a fucking _joke_, he was aware, and barely managed to stifle a panicked burst of laughter.

If _She_ wanted to harm him, despite his promises and best intentions, Aziraphale would not be able to stop Her.

And when it came to guessing as to Her intentions, how She felt about him - the evidence provided by the past year of Crowley's existence was not terribly reassuring.

"It's all right," Aziraphale whispered, soothing fingers carding through Crowley's hair, his lips brushing his temple. "It's all right, my love."

Crowley's mouth was dry, his lips trembling. "What - I mean, is - is She…?"

"Listening," Aziraphale said softly, meeting Crowley's eyes - which clarified _nothing_, but he found more reassurance in his angel's loving gaze than should have been logically possible. Aziraphale was smiling, hope and triumph shining through his eyes, awe and reverence in his hushed words. "She was _listening_."


	39. Chapter 39

"_Aziraphale_." The voice of the Metatron echoed in the room, compelling and powerful and immediately arresting the attention of each of its occupants. "Angel of the Eastern Gate and Guardian of Eden… the Almighty has been listening, and has heard, and is ready to pass Her judgment…"

The last few words stuttered into silence with the soft static of a fading radio signal. The column of light abruptly flickered, and then went dark, vanishing completely. Crowley stared at the place where it had been with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if he wasn't quite certain it had ever really been there at all. Gabriel blinked, then smiled slowly, a smug laugh escaping his lips.

"Guess maybe She's not listening after all." He smirked, shrugged a little. "Bad connection. Maybe She'll call back."

Aziraphale wasn't bothered. This all felt rather familiar.

"Just wait," he said with confident certainty, reaching out to take Crowley's hand, and then giving him a warm, reassuring smile and a little nod when wide, golden eyes turned toward his, anxious and questioning. "She does this."

Crowley blinked in bewilderment, staring. "She _does this_?" he echoed, incredulous. "She does _what_? Aziraphale..."

"The Metatron is… well, somewhat like a switchboard operator who usually takes Her messages for Her, but… not this time. She told me Herself that She'd be listening," Aziraphale explained, before turning his steady, even gaze back toward the place where the light had been. "And I know that She has been."

"What, because you're so special?" Gabriel sneered. "She hasn't spoken personally to anyone in centuries, and we're supposed to believe She talked to you Herself? Bullshit."

Both Aziraphale and Crowley continued to completely ignore Gabriel.

"She… told you…" Crowley echoed, not _disbelieving_, exactly, but clearly having difficulty in processing. "When did She tell you this? How long has She been listening?"

Aziraphale swallowed slowly, wincing a little. He could feel his face flush with his guilt. "About a week now," he confessed. "Since right after Michael's visit. I - I asked Her to."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Crowley frowned, his voice soft and troubled, and Aziraphale's stomach lurched when his husband pulled his hand away.

Aziraphale hesitated, glancing toward Gabriel. He really didn't want to have this conversation right now, when he truly believed that the Almighty would be reappearing at any moment, and the archangel was listening closely to their every word, viciously attentive to any trace of weakness, any tiny little thing he might use to wedge between them.

But Crowley's eyes were expectant and wary, waiting for an answer Aziraphale knew he owed.

"I - didn't know what She'd say," he admitted, lowering his voice and moving in a little closer to Crowley, angling so that his back was to Gabriel, though he knew it was likely he could still hear them. "I didn't want it to - to hurt you, if…" His words trailed off, stifled by the archangel's intent, malicious silence.

"If She said She didn't care?" Crowley concluded, demanding, angry, making no effort whatsoever to speak quietly. In fact, for the moment, he seemed to have forgotten Gabriel's presence entirely. "If She rejected me?"

Aziraphale winced at the raw pain in Crowley's words, nodding slowly, his eyes downcast. "Yes," he answered simply.

Crowley laughed, low and bitter, shaking his head and looking away for a moment before looking back up into Aziraphale's face. "Yeah, kinda got the memo on that one. Don't know how hearing it aloud could have hurt any more than the pool of boiling sulfur or the… the getting kicked out in the first place."

Aziraphale's heart ached at the depth of vulnerability behind the angry set of Crowley's jaw, the glimmer of furious tears in his eyes. He understood Crowley's reasoning - knew that their Creator's rejection had long ago broken Crowley's heart to the point where he'd believed it couldn't possibly have been damaged any further.

Systematically, with deliberate cruelty - it had been.

And She had done _nothing_.

Aziraphale had only wanted to protect Crowley from another blow. He had to be sure She wasn't against them - had to seek Her out and find out for certain before going any further with his plan - but feared that another rejection, from Her lips, would have shattered his precious demon beyond mending.

Anxious, concerned, he reached out for Crowley's hand again, gratified when Crowley glared at him, but grudgingly allowed him to take it.

"But that _didn't happen_, Crowley," he assured him. "And I knew it wouldn't. She marked us, _accepted_ us. Placed Her _literal _seal of approval upon us - and that wouldn't have happened, She wouldn't have _done_ that if…" He allowed his words to trail off, shaking his head, relieved at the slight softening he saw in Crowley's expression… the moment when he started to believe that perhaps She actually _was_ on their side… the moment when at last he began to hold Aziraphale's hand _back, _again. "She said She'd listen," Aziraphale repeated softly. "And She did."

"And… you saw no reason to _tell _me She was listening? After?"

Aziraphale glanced uneasily toward Gabriel again. He really felt that this should be a private conversation taking place at a later time - not with their most vengeful enemy listening in on every word - even if he _did_ happen to be kneeling at their feet and hours at best from his own death. And at any moment _She_ was going to make Her presence known; he rather wondered why She hadn't already.

But Crowley's gaze was insistent, impatiently waiting for an answer.

"I wasn't sure… how you'd feel about it. I thought you might be… anxious, or…"

"Or _completely fucking against it_. So, easier not to tell me at all, then, and just make the call for both of us," Crowley countered.

The taut, muted anger, the quiet accusation in his tone made Aziraphale so proud of him, so thrilled at his progress. It would have made him so very happy - had it been aimed at _anyone in the universe_ besides himself.

As it was, the fierce, knowing light in Crowley's eyes… his firm refusal to let his angel off the hook and simply _accept_ something he was very much _not okay_ with... was impressive, and perhaps even a little intimidating.

And Aziraphale was officially back to _so proud of him _again.

"Crowley… my darling, I'm sorry, I understand why you're upset with me…"

"No, I'm not sure that you do."

Aziraphale winced, gently squeezing his hand, tugging Crowley a little closer to him. A strange mix of relief and apprehension flooded him at the way Crowley grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled in, while giving him a scathing glare beneath a single, raised brow.

"Darling, I'm sorry, I am, but this… might not be the time, we can talk about it…"

"Oh, we're _going_ to talk about it, angel," Crowley declared, quiet and sharp, and Aziraphale couldn't help but take comfort in the endearment, however angrily it might have been spoken. "Trust me on that."

"**Do you two… need a minute?"**

The voice that suddenly resonated throughout the room was clear and warm and subtly powerful - like the low roll of distant thunder. It wasn't overpowering, wasn't in any way threatening - but it filled and saturated the room, commanding the full attention of everyone in it. The column reappeared where it had been before, but this time there was no face staring out from it at all - only brilliant, pure white light.

"**I understood you were expecting my call." **

Aziraphale turned toward the light, eyes lowered respectfully. "I - I was, my Lord, my apologies…"

Aziraphale's voice trailed off, however, when Crowley pulled his hand away from his. He watched with dismay as Crowley dropped to his knees, his head bowed low in supreme humility, his arms wrapped protectively around his body. He was silent, visibly trembling in Her presence. Aziraphale's lips parted to say something reassuring, some promise of safety - and his mouth went dry when he realized that he could make no such promise.

Even Gabriel with all his pride was bowed low on his knees, all traces of arrogance and mockery completed faded into oblivion - his face pale, body trembling. She had come to pass judgment, the Metatron had said. All at once, Aziraphale felt a little sick with dawning realization of just a little part of why Crowley was so upset with him for setting this up behind his back - for not consulting him before making this drastic move against their enemy.

Aziraphale had no power against the might of the Almighty. Had he made a dreadful mistake?

What could he possibly do if Crowley's fears proved well-founded?

His stomach rolling dangerously, Aziraphale started to sink to his knees as well - the ill-timed gesture aborted by Her quiet command.

"**Rise."**

There was compassion, and a gentle sorrow emanating from Her voice, and Aziraphale could have wept with relief at the warm soul-deep reassurance of it… though his heart was still racing. This encounter was far from over, and from this moment onward, _nothing_ was within his control.

"**I do not wish you to kneel any longer. There's been far too much of that already." **

Crowley hesitated, faltering a little as he started to obey Her command, and Aziraphale reached to take his arm, helping him to his feet. He kept his arm around Crowley - a uselessly protective gesture, he knew. And Crowley stayed close to him, his head humbly bowed, his wings drawn in low and close to his back.

Gabriel placed one foot on the floor, carefully regaining his balance with his bound hands in front of him, preparing to rise to his feet as well.

"**I was **_**NOT**_ **speaking to **_**you**_**." **

The voice of the Almighty became a low, thunderous warning that filled the room, and Aziraphale felt the tremor of Crowley's body, pressed into his side, in harmony with the quiver in the pit of his own stomach.

Gabriel immediately dropped back to his knees, his head lowered, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat, as his eyes darted up toward the light and then immediately away from it in fear.

"**A bit more time on your knees might have served you well, archangel." **

Aziraphale couldn't suppress a small smile of grim satisfaction. At his side, he felt Crowley straighten a little, letting out a soft, shaky breath. Through their bond, he could feel the tentative sense of relief that washed over Crowley with Her words, as he cautiously allowed himself to take some courage from Her demeanor toward his abuser.

"**I am here to pass judgment on you, Gabriel, for your crimes, which you have confessed with your own mouth, and which have been witnessed against you - by these witnesses, and others, and by Myself. Your pride, your arrogance, your sadistic thirst for power, and how these sins have manifested themselves in every form of violent and despicable abuse you have committed against the fallen angel, Crowley." **

Gabriel drew in a shuddering breath. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and small, as he stammered out, "L-Lord, I… thought… he's _Fallen_, I..."

"_**I AM NOT FINISHED**_**." **

A visible shiver passed through the archangel's body at the low fury in Her voice, and he lowered his face close to his knees. His lips parted, forming soundless words for a moment before he closed them again, not even daring to apologize. Aziraphale's mouth twisted into an expression of vindictive satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile, as a vicious little thrill passed through him at the just irony, the similarity of the scene to a trace of memory that lingered in his mind - a memory that wasn't his own.

"**The Fallen are still **_**mine**_**, Gabriel. My children - however estranged. You **_**dare**_ **presume to harm my child?" **

The protective anger in Her voice sent a shiver down Aziraphale's spine. For perhaps the first time in his existence, he felt as if he actually _knew_ Her, could _relate_ to Her… because what She seemed to be feeling at the moment was exactly what he'd been feeling for months.

"**Your actions were vile. Disgusting, and depraved. They were** _**in no way**_ **representative of My will, and they should **_**never**_ **have been committed in the name of it. Should never have been committed at all." **

Her wrath was unmistakable, whether or not Gabriel truly believed he deserved it, and he wisely kept his body bowed low. When at last it seemed that perhaps, for the moment, She was finished, a trembling, desperate whisper escaped his lips.

"_Mercy… mercy, Lord_…"

Aziraphale matched his plea with a silent prayer, too vicious and frightening for him to allow himself to speak the words aloud.

_Show none, Lord, please, not for him… as he had none for Crowley._

She ignored them both.

"_**Crowley."**_

He flinched, his eyes downcast, swallowing slowly before a raspy whisper passed his lips, "Y-yes... Lord?"

Aziraphale's heart ached at the words. Despite Hell's apparent claim to Crowley, demon or not, Aziraphale knew he'd never lost his love for Her - not really. Not completely. Crowley's heart, damned as it might be, was and always had been far nearer to Hers than to Satan's.

"**I know you want answers," **She continued, Her voice gentle with understanding, and perhaps a trace of regret. "**I know you feel you deserve My apology, for the things that have been done to you…"**

"_No_," Crowley whispered, shaking his head emphatically, horrified at the suggestion. "No, no, I-I didn't say that, _never_ said that…"

Aziraphale cleared his throat, raising his hand slightly, doing his best to keep calm even as he deliberately drew the potential of Her wrath toward himself instead. "I said that," he reminded Her quietly. "That was me."

"**Yes, Aziraphale," **She acknowledged his confession with mild reproof, but also a sort of affectionate amusement in Her voice. "**You have made your feelings on the matter quite clear. Now… it is Crowley's turn to speak."**

Crowley shivered a little, pressing slightly closer to Aziraphale for a moment - before drawing in a deep breath, and very deliberately taking a step away from him, out from under the protective shelter of his arm. He closed his eyes, and Aziraphale knew he was carefully weighing his words.

"**You have been silenced for too long, Crowley. I wish to hear your voice, and you need not fear punishment for it - no matter what questions you may have."**

Crowley's eyes darted up toward the light, wide and unflinching, startled at her words. He swallowed slowly, and Aziraphale's heart clenched when he saw the first faint flash of anger on his husband's face. He knew why: it seemed that Her mindset was quite different now than it had been in the beginning - when his questions had cost Crowley _everything_.

_Please, love... carefully, please…_

Crowley didn't seem to hear him, at any rate didn't acknowledge him. His voice was soft, uncertain at first, but slowly grew stronger as he spoke. "All right. Yeah." He nodded slowly, thinking it through for a moment before continuing. "It's - it's like this, then. I - I know You work in mysterious ways, and - we can't always understand. I know that. And I know you don't - owe me an apology. Don't owe anyone anything. You, uh - brought us into this world, and can take us out, yeah? But…" His voice choked off for a moment, and he closed his eyes for a moment against his tears, before continuing, hoarse and hurting, "... an _explanation_ might be nice? You said I'm - Your child. Your _child_… but You cast me out. And - whatever I may have done to deserve that - being cast out - wasn't that _enough_? It _hurt_, and it never _stopped_ hurting, and _still_… I deserved _this, too_? What he _did_ to me?"

Aziraphale closed his own eyes, burning with tears, at the desperate ache in Crowley's voice, as he remembered making the same exact point to Her, asking Her the very same question.

"If I am - still Your child, Lord, then - I'd like to know. _Why_? Why _You_… would do this to me."

He fell silent, brushing an angry, agitated hand across his eyes, looking away, his jaw locked in an expression that was not _quite_ sullen, but very clearly hurt.

"**I didn't do this to you, Crowley,"** She said at last, Her voice clear and even, and not carrying even the slightest trace of anger. "**I will not deny that I could have stopped it. But - free will is not free will at all if I go about deciding who gets to have it… is it? Every day, humans and angels alike make choices of their own free will - some for good, and some for unspeakable evil. Wars and genocide and **_**slavery**_…"

Gabriel flinched a little, but the Almighty didn't appear to be paying him even the slightest attention.

"**I allow **_**all **_**to choose." **

Crowley frowned slightly, his lips parted, and then closing again.

"**Go ahead. Speak your heart to Me." **

Crowley remained quiet for what felt like a very long time, and when at last he spoke, his words were hushed and aching. "I _didn't_ get to choose. All my choices were - _taken_ from me." He didn't sound angry, not really - just deeply hurt and confused.

Aziraphale, for his part, was deeply grateful that She seemed focused on Crowley - because the state of _his _thoughts was a very different thing indeed - angry and demanding and quite a bit less than respectful, at the moment.

"**There are many that I have loved, and have allowed to suffer, who were never allowed to see the greater purpose behind their suffering." **

All at once - perhaps guided by Her hand, perhaps only by his own memory - Aziraphale's mind was carried back to a dusty desert hill, at a place called Golgotha.

"**That does not mean that there was **_**not **_**a purpose," **She continued. "**I won't explain every detail of My plan to you, Crowley. I **_**will**_ **tell you that there was purpose, even in your Fall - and you have served it well. I **_**will**_ **tell you… that what Gabriel has done to you is **_**wrong**_**. Unjust, and **_**completely**_ **undeserved. Among his many sins is that he **_**dared**_ **to speak for **_**Me**_ **\- to claim to be carrying out a punishment you'd somehow earned." **

Crowley looked up toward Her, then, eyes wide and searching, his mouth trembling just a little.

"**That was a lie. I never deemed you worthy of any punishment beyond your Fall. You are** **innocent in all of this, Crowley. None of it is in any way your fault." **

Crowley's shoulders began to quake, and he shook his head sharply, raising a hand to press thumb and forefinger against his eyes in an attempt to stifle his tears, a harsh gasp escaping his lips. Aziraphale _ached_ to hold him… but he resisted the impulse, and stayed where he was. Not because he feared Her wrath - at this point he couldn't imagine She'd fault him for trying to comfort his husband - but because Crowley had _deliberately stepped away_.

This was an intensely personal moment between Crowley and his Creator, and Aziraphale had no wish to intrude.

"**I know it didn't feel like it at the time, but you **_**did **_**have choices, Crowley… even in your suffering." **She paused, and when She spoke again Her voice was filled with unspeakable _love_, enough to make Aziraphale's heart _throb_ with it, enough to cause tears to flow down his face.

"**And you made them **_**beautifully**_**."**

A soft sob escaped Crowley's lips, and Aziraphale could feel his injured spirit's stubborn resistance... warring with his desperate, aching _longing _for Her, as Her love and approval washed over him.

"**Every single time, Crowley… you chose love. You chose selfless loyalty. In all of what has taken place from the moment you were taken - you are the only one involved who has remained completely pure and blameless."**

Aziraphale's mind went back to their conversation days earlier… and further back, to the time when Crowley was missing, and he was desperately trying _anything_ just to find him. His face colored with shame as Crowley glanced at him uncertainly before looking back toward Her with a frown, momentarily distracted on Aziraphale's behalf.

"What'd _he_ do?" he demanded - defensive, shifting protectively nearer to his angel. "All he's done is to protect me."

"**Yes," **She stated simply. "**All he's done - he's done to protect you." **

To Aziraphale's tremendous relief, She offered no further clarification.

But Crowley looked to him with a troubled expression. Ashamed, guilty, Aziraphale couldn't quite hold his gaze. "I'll tell you later," he said softly. He looked back toward the pillar of light, but couldn't quite bring himself to look directly at it. "I will," he assured Her. "I promise I will."

"**You need not convince **_**Me**_**, Aziraphale,"** she reminded him, sorrow mingled with affection in Her voice. "**I know you will. I see your heart."** Her voice lowered, harder and thunderous. "**As I see **_**yours**_**, Gabriel."**

The archangel flinched at the sound of his own name, an accusation from Her lips. He bowed low before Her, not daring to speak a word in his own defense.

"**It is wicked and prideful and cruel. You are the accused, and you may speak now - if you feel there is anything you could say that might help your case. But I will warn you that it's unlikely. Any words you utter to attempt to justify your cruelty… your violent abuse of your power and position… will only serve to further confirm your guilt."**

Gabriel opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak... then closed it again. Another false start - followed by only silence. It seemed that, unsurprisingly, She was completely right. Everything that occurred to him to say, he swiftly realized would only make him look worse. At last he just closed his mouth, and his eyes, shaking his head slowly - speechless and defeated.

She focused Her attention on Crowley again. "**I see **_**your**_ **heart as well, Crowley - how filled with love it is, and has always been. How hard you've worked against your fallen state all these millennia, to avoid harming anyone." **

Crowley frowned deeply, an offended expression on his face. His lips parted as if to protest, and Aziraphale cringed, aghast. He knew Crowley had never appreciated being told how good he was - in effect, how _bad_ he was at being a demon - but _surely_ he knew that this was _hardly_ the time...

All at once Crowley froze, eyes widening as he seemed to suddenly realize what Aziraphale already had - that he'd been about to _actually defend himself_, against Her accusations of _kindness_ and _goodness_. He closed his mouth, bit his lower lip to silence himself, cringing a little - because whatever he'd just narrowly avoided saying aloud... She certainly already knew.

She evidently chose to ignore it, and continued speaking, Her voice filled with tenderness and love.

"**I see how deeply you have loved, Crowley. How much you've sacrificed for the sake of your love. And that is why... **_**you**_ **are the one who will decide the archangel's fate."**

Crowley looked up at Her sharply, suddenly, disbelieving. Gabriel did, too, for just a moment - visibly stricken - but then swiftly looked down again, his breath quickening with alarm. Aziraphale was mildly surprised at Her words - but in a sense, he wasn't at all, because it was _perfect_.

It was the only thing that felt _right_ and _fair_.

"**You were never his - but now, he is yours,"** She continued. "**I know that there is no such cruelty in your heart as is found in his, and you will judge fairly." **

Gabriel shook his head in silent denial, trembling. If it had been literally _anyone_ else, Aziraphale _might _have even felt sorry for him. This had to be his worst nightmare come true - if he'd ever even considered the possibility that he might actually pay for his actions. He was shaking apart on his knees at Her feet - and at Crowley's.

The vicious satisfaction Aziraphale felt shocked him a little - and made it even more perfectly clear to him why She had chosen Crowley as the archangel's judge.

"**But… should you surprise Me," **She went on, "**no matter how severely you decide to punish him… you have My word that no judgment shall befall you for your choice. It is freely, completely, given into your hands." **

Crowley had lowered his gaze, and was staring at the floor just in front of the light, visibly struggling to process what he was hearing. His jaw was set with tension, his expression troubled… conflicted. Aziraphale could see a trace of anger on his face again now, tears glistening in his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. He started to speak, then stopped himself. A couple of times.

"**Crowley. I know that there is more you wish to say to Me." **

Crowley shook his head, turning his face away from Her.

"_I can't_," he whispered.

A heavy silence fell over the room for a long moment, only broken by the shuddering sound of Gabriel's frightened, unsteady breaths.

At last, the Almighty spoke again, Her voice solemn and soft with compassion.

"**I know that you may never be able to forgive Me for what I've allowed to happen to you." **

Crowley swallowed slowly, his eyes closed, his face turned away - and didn't make even the slightest attempt to deny it or argue the point.

"**I know that, despite My seal… My blessing on your union… My healing of your scars, **_**beyond**_ **that blessing… you still doubt My love for you, and you fear to say so. But - I dearly want to **_**hear**_ **what you have to say to Me, Crowley. I would hear your anger and your hurt and all the things you can't find words for. And then… then, there are things that it is My will for **_**you**_ **to hear, as well." **

She was quiet a moment longer, before speaking again, a gentle invitation.

"**Will you draw near to Me, Crowley? Be alone with Me a while?" **

Crowley hesitated, uncertain for a long moment. Then, he drew in a deep breath, and stepped forward, toward the column. His gaze was downcast at first, and then he lifted his eyes up toward Her. The shimmering glow of Her light reflected on his face took Aziraphale's breath - and his heart lurched when all at once, Crowley stepped directly into the center of the pillar of blazing white.

All was quiet in the bookshop, as Aziraphale watched with terror that slowly faded into anxious fascination, as Crowley seemed to be all right. His face turned up toward Heaven, he just listened in silence for a while. And then, he was speaking, and try as he might, Aziraphale couldn't hear a sound, or make out a word amidst the brilliant light that surrounded Crowley.

_Her _light.

Crowley was saturated with it, _burning_ with it - but not consumed.

And as he went on speaking, he began gesturing with his hands - first a little, then with greater intensity. And then he was _shouting_, though the sound was blocked from Aziraphale. He was crying, _screaming_, his body quaking with grief and pain and _rage_ that poured out of him - only for Her ears. He kicked the side of the invisible barrier that seemed to contain the light - slammed his fist into it a couple of times, roaring up toward the Heavens… before sinking to his knees, weeping, his arms wrapped around his body.

Aziraphale couldn't see Her face, of course - only the powerful light of Her presence. But he watched in wonder as the light seemed to swirl downward from the top of the column, hovering and then settling over Crowley, concentrated around him, growing brighter and brighter until Aziraphale could scarcely stand to look at it - and yet couldn't bring himself to look away.

He watched in awe, his chest aching, his face streaked with tears, as, slowly, Crowley's arms were drawn out of their defensive positioning, and he was gently lifted up onto his feet.

_She doesn't want him on his knees anymore…_

Crowley still wept, his hands held up to cover his face, but he was leaning into the light a little, as if somehow it had solid form and was supporting him. The light shimmered and shifted around him, not in any way resembling the shape of a person - and yet somehow, Aziraphale could almost imagine that he saw Her there, surrounding him, holding him in Her formless, invisible arms.

Aziraphale had no idea how long Crowley stayed in Her light. It could have been a few minutes, or it could have been eternity, for all he knew.

Of course, it was quite literally no time at all.

When at last Crowley stepped out of the column, his face was tear-stained, but serene. And when his eyes met Aziraphale's, the angel was flooded with a sense of relief and reassurance, and for the first time in a very long time, an intensity of _love_ for Her, without reservation - because he could see, shining out from Crowley's eyes, and all over Crowley's face.

Forgiveness. _Acceptance._

Crowley stepped directly into Aziraphale's waiting embrace - surprisingly still. He wasn't trembling, wasn't crying anymore. He pressed his face into Aziraphale's shoulder, and Aziraphale gazed up at Her - feeling the warmth of Her approval wash over him. It felt as if She was handing over a precious treasure to him, into his care - and he felt honored and overwhelmed with it, and vowed silently that he would do justice to Her trust - to _Crowley's_ trust - in him.

He knew what that meant. There were a few things they needed to talk about… confessions he had to make... in order to hold onto that trust.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale at last, his gaze open and vulnerable, trusting and tender. Aziraphale kissed him softly, and for a moment Crowley kissed back - before abruptly pulling away, cringing just a little and glancing pointedly over his shoulder before meeting Aziraphale's eyes again. Aziraphale smiled ruefully, pressing his brow against Crowley's.

_Right. Mum's watching. Must be careful. _He kept his lightly teasing words safe in the privacy of their mental connection.

_Yeah. Listening for a week, right? _Crowley's voice echoed only in Aziraphale's mind.

_Yes. Since the moment I asked Her to. _

Crowley drew back a little, meeting Aziraphale's gaze with a meaningful little grimace.

_To… to _everything_. _

Aziraphale winced, his face flushing as he realized the implications of Crowley's observation. The bonding ritual - as well as three or four other rather mortifyingly intimate incidents - all had taken place during the course of that week... under Her observation.

_Er… yes, I suppose so. That - hadn't actually occurred to me…_

"**Hello? All-powerful, omniscient Being, here. I can still hear you, you know."**

There was mild exasperation, and more than a little affection, in Her words. Embarrassed, Aziraphale closed his eyes, resting his head against Crowley's, and they just stood there, holding onto each other, neither able to bring himself to look toward the light at the moment - but both felt it when it left the confines of the column and flowed around them, surrounding them for a few moments - brilliant, blinding, no more audible words spoken.

Just an overwhelming _feeling_.

Her approval. Her acceptance. Her _love_.

There was a sharp _crack_ and a quiet clattering sound, and Crowley let out a gasp, his hand flying up to his throat. Aziraphale looked up at him in alarm, and then down - eyes widening when he realized what had happened.

The collar lay open, harmless, on the floor at Crowley's feet.

Crowley stared down at it for a long, hushed moment, blinking in stunned disbelief - then turned and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders, burying his face in his neck, gasping for breath, overwhelmed as his power came flowing back. Aziraphale could feel it like a shift in reality, a crackling in the air, a thrumming electric vibration just under the surface of Crowley's skin - and he held him steady through the change, silently weeping with relief for his love, as he felt the wet heat of Crowley's tears soaking into his shirt.

_**I love you. Know that I love you.**_

Her words echoed through both their minds, through the connection of their bond.

Her gift was the evidence.

Her presence was overwhelming, _indescribable_ \- and then, just like that - _gone_.

Aziraphale stayed where he was, holding onto Crowley, who held onto him too, as they silently absorbed the shock of Her visit, everything She had said, and the supreme gift and burden She had bestowed upon Crowley.

At some point, Gabriel had turned around so that he was facing them, though he remained trembling on the floor on his knees, staring down at the collar a couple of feet in front of him. He looked stricken, shell-shocked, as if he was still trying to process everything he'd seen and heard - and the judgment that had been passed over him.

"What…" His voice sounded choked, and scared, and very, very small. He tried again, with only slightly better results. "What are you going to do to me?"

Crowley was went still and silent in Aziraphale's arms, his back still turned to Gabriel. He drew in a slow breath, regaining his composure, before he turned to face his abuser with a calm and level glare that blazed with cold fire. He held the archangel's gaze head-on until at last, _Gabriel_ looked away, violet eyes falling to the floor at Crowley's feet.

"You heard Her," Crowley said quietly, a grim smile passing across his lips, his voice low and dangerously soft. "Whatever I want."


	40. Chapter 40

"What are you going to do to me?"

Crowley had had a very long time to think about the answer to that question.

He'd thought about it a lot during the early days of Gabriel's interrogation - how when he got away, he was going to make the archangel pay for every cut, every blow. Without his really noticing it, his mental track gradually shifted to thinking about _if _he got away, not _when_. And then, the idea of revenge against his tormentor became nothing more than a dark fantasy that he never thought might actually come true.

Until at last, the very _thought_ felt too dangerous.

_He'll know, he'll be angry, he'll hurt you…_

Crowley desperately stifled his thirst for vengeance, focusing instead on the losing game of figuring out what Gabriel wanted from him and giving it to him as swiftly and enthusiastically as possible, hoping to minimize his suffering - a useless, futile pursuit, when what Gabriel wanted from him, generally speaking, _was _his suffering.

Now - Gabriel was at _his_ mercy.

And Crowley had _no idea_ what he wanted to do with him.

Truth be told, Crowley didn't care quite as much about Gabriel's fate as he had a few minutes earlier. After so long restrained by the collar, his restored demonic powers felt like an electrical current racing through his veins, like the ultimate adrenaline rush, exhilarating but overwhelming.

He was still reeling from his profoundly personal encounter with his Creator, his mind still racing in circles to process the things She had told him… his heart still resonating with the sweet ache of Her love for him, the exhausting catharsis of the intimate moments he had spent in Her presence.

_Fuck_ Gabriel.

He really didn't matter anymore. _At all_.

But… deep down, Crowley knew that that wasn't actually true. What happened to Gabriel - Crowley's _decision_, in this moment - _did_ matter. Gabriel was a threat that had to be dealt with - a threat not only to Crowley and his angel, but to anyone else that happened to cross him in his power-mad pursuits.

The Almighty had told him he could choose Gabriel's punishment - but She'd also told him She was proud of him for the choices he'd made thus far. He believed Her promise: She wouldn't punish him for taking his vengeance out on the archangel in every brutal way his ravaged, violated mind had ever imagined.

But… would She be _disappointed_ with him for it?

There was a yearning ache in his chest… an innate desire to please Her that he supposed, if he were truly honest with himself, had never actually gone away at all, despite his demonic nature.

A demonic nature he still retained - while now having been openly reclaimed as Her child. The Enochian seal that marked his union to Aziraphale also signified Her approval and acceptance. That didn't mean that Heaven was going to want anything to do with him, of course - and Hell wasn't going to have _any idea_ what to do with him.

Things were going to get really complicated, really fast.

That was a problem for another day… a smaller piece of the small piece of Her plan She'd whispered to him in the private light of Her presence.

The question of the moment remained - what was he going to do with Gabriel?

Well, Crowley supposed for a start, what he _really_ wanted to do was to _scare the ever-loving shit _out of him.

"_Whatever I want_."

He fixed Gabriel with a cold stare, mildly surprised at how easy it was to hold the archangel's gaze. After screaming and raging at the Almighty… and, in one particularly after-the-fact _terrifying_ moment, cursing Her to Her face… and _surviving_…

Well. Gabriel simply wasn't very frightening anymore - not at all, in fact, as he shivered and lowered his gaze at the familiar words, a quiet threat from Crowley's lips.

Even so, the archangel did seem a little less intimidated, now that their Heavenly Mother had left the building.

A little more _talkative_, unfortunately.

"Look," he began, his voice low and subdued. "I - I don't even know how to begin. I was wrong." He raised his bound hands in front of him, spread open in front of him in a supplicating gesture. "I - I thought you were the enemy - all of you, all of Hell, and - and that She _wanted_ you… defeated, or - or dead…"

"Or raped or _enslaved_?" Crowley snapped, a hot rush of anger flooding his chest. "You can't _possibly_ expect me to believe you thought She _wanted_ that!"

"We're headed toward war, right?" Gabriel pointed out, venturing to look up at Crowley again, and Crowley kept his expression carefully neutral.

The Almighty had had a bit to say about _that_, as well - but he was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to share it with anyone yet.

"It wasn't _about_ the... specifics of what I did to you," Gabriel continued, his tone measured and cautious - and his words still _absolutely fucking maddening_ in their utter insensitivity. "It was... a _strategy_. A tactic of war, to break you so you'd..."

"Bollocks," Crowley snarled, his voice rising with his frustration, his furious resentment at Gabriel's continued refusal to acknowledge his wrong for what it was. "You did it because you _wanted_ to do it! And it wasn't about breaking me, not really - not into some kind of spy or weapon on Heaven's behalf, anyway. It was about _you_... hurting me. _Owning _me. _You_ wanted that. Don't you _dare_ put it off on Her."

He hadn't even realized he'd moved, but all at once he was directly in front of Gabriel, towering over him, fists clenched and trembling at his sides.

"Okay, okay!" Gabriel held his hands up in front of him in surrender. "I'm sorry, all right? I can't undo it. I don't know what else you want me to say. I'm _sorry_!"

The words were ones Crowley had imagined countless times, during his captivity - most often in combination with his fantasies of vengeance. But there was no satisfaction in hearing them now - because there wasn't a trace of sincerity in them.

"You're not sorry," he said, his voice soft and knowing. "You're _scared_. Believe me. I know the difference."

Gabriel was staring at the floor at Crowley's feet, his hands still held in a wary, guarded position. He didn't argue, but he frowned deeply with clear confusion. Crowley swallowed against the ache in his throat, closing his eyes against the onslaught of his memories - though that only made them more vivid.

"I wasn't sorry, the first few hundred times I said it," he pointed out, the words feeling thick on his tongue, the hot burn of tears behind his eyelids. "I'd have said anything. I just wanted you to - to stop hurting me. So - I said what I thought you wanted to hear. But - I didn't _really_ believe I'd done anything wrong. At first."

Crowley swallowed slowly, the words trembling as they fell from his lips, rising in strength and intensity with his emotions. "And then - I _was_ sorry. For _everything_. For trying to protect myself. For pulling away, or - or _crying_, for begging you to stop, for - _look at me _when I'm _fucking talking to you_!"

Gabriel flinched at the words Crowley shouted in his face, and then obeyed, an edge of bridled panic in his wide, wary eyes - but it wasn't as satisfying as Crowley might have hoped. It wasn't Gabriel's obedience that he was after, or even his fear, but to have the injustice he'd suffered _acknowledged_, to be _seen _\- and all Gabriel could see in any of this was himself, and how he might somehow find a way to maneuver his way out of his predicament.

Resigned, Crowley sighed and looked away. "I was sorry… for _saying I was sorry_," he laughed bitterly. "You made me _actually believe_ that the things you did to me were _my fault_. That - I deserved them. I brought your punishments on myself, and I was _so fucking sorry_. I really was."

He raised his eyes to look at Gabriel again, somewhat gratified by the archangel's careful attention, even if there wasn't a trace of true remorse in his cold violet eyes.

"I know scared… and I know sorry," Crowley concluded wearily. "And I know the moment when one turns to the other. I'd love to see you _actually sorry_ for what you did to me - but I'm not sure we have the time to get there." He was quiet for a moment, disgust in his voice as he amended, "Not sure there's time enough in the bloody universe for that."

Gabriel would never truly be sorry. For that, he'd have to be capable of caring what happened to anyone besides himself - and Crowley was quite certain by this point that he didn't.

"There's all the time you'd like, my love."

Aziraphale's voice was hushed with anticipation, his hand warm and soft as it slid into Crowley's, and Crowley jumped a bit, startled, glancing sharply toward him.

He'd all but forgotten his angel was still in the room.

Aziraphale gave him a soft, encouraging smile, but his eyes were cool and deadly as he turned them toward the kneeling archangel, meeting Gabriel's gaze as he spoke.

"Time is still stopped," he pointed out. "She didn't start it again before She left - which means…"

"She's left that up to me," Crowley concluded, slow and thoughtful as the implications of that dawned on him - intense and a little intimidating, the level of power She'd left in his hands. "So… no one can interrupt me… before I'm finished."

Gabriel shuddered, his gaze dropping to the floor again, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand, his smile widening slightly with satisfaction. "You can take days," he agreed, looking toward Crowley again with bright eyes. "Months, if you like. Longer."

The vindictive note in his voice was chilling. Crowley studied his husband closely for a moment, soft sarcasm mingled with affectionate concern in his voice.

"You're tempting _me_ now, angel?"

It _was _an enticing thought.

"It's not tempting you when you have Her explicit permission," Aziraphale pointed out. "You may do as you will with him, and She's made it clear: there's no hurry."

"What do you _want_ from me?" The words burst from Gabriel's lips, agitated and desperate. "Sorry's not good enough, I get it. What do you want me to say? To _do_? Just tell me, I'll do it…"

Aziraphale's smile twisted into an angry grimace, and he took the blade out again, taking a step toward Gabriel. Crowley could feel his protective rage, his frustration at Gabriel's utter self-focus, his determination to manipulate Crowley into letting him off the hook easy, rather than making any attempt whatsoever to make genuine amends.

Crowley's hand tightened around Aziraphale's, silently pulling him back. Aziraphale swallowed slowly, reluctantly compliant with Crowley's wishes, tucking the blade away again and looking toward Crowley with quiet expectation.

Calm, controlled, Crowley focused his gaze on Gabriel. "I want you to understand what you did to me," he answered. "To - know what it feels like."

Gabriel had the _gall _to actually _laugh_ \- holding up his chained hands with a weary sigh. "I'm chained up on my knees, begging your mercy. Humiliated - helpless. I think that's a pretty decent start."

Gabriel's laugh echoed in Crowley's memory - viciously satisfied when Crowley was helpless and terrified, chained up at his wings and his wrists and uselessly struggling not to get away, but to keep still and silent and suffer to his master's satisfaction. Disgusted and derisive as he'd shoved Crowley's face down against the dirty stone floor of his cell, snarling at him about how stupid and useless he was while slamming into his body with ruthless, agonizing force. The _cruelty_ of his laughter when Crowley had sobbed out desperate pleas for mercy they'd both known would go ignored - or punished, depending on the archangel's mood.

_Gabriel_ was helpless now, on his knees before Crowley, at _his _mercy.

And _still laughing. _

Crowley just… _lost it_, tearing his hand from his angel's grasp and closing the remaining few steps between himself and Gabriel, launching a fierce, furious attack.

"A _decent start_?" His words were choked, incredulous, as his fist slammed down across Gabriel's face. "It's _nothing_! _Nothing_ compared to what you did to me! What's happened to you so far is what happened to me on the _first day_ before you ever _touched_ me!" He aimed a sharp kick to Gabriel's ribcage, viciously gratified when the archangel doubled over with a choked, wheezing sound. He continued raining blows on his tormentor with trembling fists and feet, furious tears blinding him. "You have _no fucking idea_ what it feels like, to be whipped _bloody _until you can't move for daring to _lift your eyes_... to have your wings nearly _wrenched from your body_ for fucking _fun_... to be raped until you think you shouldn't be able to cry anymore… shouldn't even be able to _feel _it… but you can. You still can..."

His chest rose and fell with breathless gasps, exhausted and overwhelmed. When at last he regained his breath enough to speak again, the words came out in a hoarse, heaving sob.

"I haven't even _touched_ you yet. Not - not the way you…"

Silence fell for a few moments as Crowley struggled to regain his composure, trying not to look at the bloody mess he'd made of Gabriel's face. Inexplicably, infuriatingly, he felt _guilty_ \- as if the bruised, kneeling archangel had never beaten _him_ to unconsciousness, while he was chained on his knees and helpless.

"Is that what you want?" Gabriel's voice was hoarse and a little slurred, his mouth swollen somewhat on one side. Crowley looked at him sharply, but he couldn't detect any mockery in his desperate words. "To hurt me like that, to - _humiliate _me? An eye for an eye?" To Crowley's horror, he rose up on his knees to close the slight distance between them, and lifted his bound hands toward Crowley. "Then do it. I'll let you. If sorry's not good enough, I'll apologize… the way _you_ used to…"

Trembling fingers barely managed to brush the coarse denim at the front of Crowley's jeans, reaching for his zipper. Crowley leapt back away from Gabriel with a strangled, startled little cry. He wasn't sure if Gabriel meant to frighten him, or to appease him. It didn't matter, all he could register was Gabriel's _hands_, _touching_ him, and he was across the room in an instant with a horrified gasp.

"_Don't fucking touch me_!"

Crowley barely even knew he was going to do it, had barely even formed the thought in his mind, before he snapped his fingers, and suddenly the chains on Gabriel's wrists were fastened together and to the floor in front of him, preventing him from lifting his hands at all. At the same moment, Aziraphale drew the Hellfire blade again and closed in swiftly, pressing Gabriel's head back with the tip of the blade to his throat. His voice was dangerously soft, a low rumble of fury underlying his words.

"You _really_ should not have touched him."

"_Aziraphale_." Crowley was still a little breathless, but the momentary panic was fading. "Don't."

Aziraphale didn't back off, didn't shift the blade an inch - but he also didn't disembowel Gabriel on the spot, so Crowley supposed that was something. Gabriel's eyes were wide, focused on the blade before trailing up to Aziraphale's face. And then, a taut, grim smile passed his lips.

"Yeah, Aziraphale," he echoed, the faintest trace of a taunt in his low voice. "Don't."

Aziraphale's mouth tightened with anger, his fist clenching around the hilt of the blade. "I should end you right now for _daring_ to..."

"His call, isn't it?" Gabriel pointed out, glancing toward Crowley.

Mostly recovered from his shock, Crowley crossed the room with slow, measured steps, reaching out to gently touch Aziraphale's arm - and his angel seemed to remember himself, letting out a shaky sigh that was heavy with frustration before reluctantly lowering the blade.

"You'd really rather I decide your fate than him?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, mildly disbelieving.

After everything Gabriel had put him through, he should have been the _last_ person Gabriel wanted to stand over him in judgment. But Gabriel stared up into Aziraphale's eyes, and when Crowley followed his gaze to the cold, dangerous expression there, he understood.

"Yeah," Gabriel answered simply. "I really would."

Crowley smiled, a slow, unpleasant smile. "Because he wants you to suffer. You both _know_ he wants you to suffer - and you have no hold over him," he concluded. "I also want you to pay for what you've done, and I'm pretty sure you know that, too, but _me _\- you think you can still control."

Gabriel's eyes darted back up to Crowley in immediate alarm. "No…"

"The way I think… the choices I make. You'd rather I decide, because you think you can manipulate me into an easier punishment."

"_No_," Gabriel insisted. "No, that's not it at all…"

"_Don't _interrupt me when I'm speaking!" Crowley cut him off with a sharp, severe tone.

Gabriel's eyes flashed, his jaw clenching with anger - and deep-seated instinct sent a little shiver of dread through Crowley. He suppressed it, kept it inside... because Gabriel didn't get to see him tremble and quake, not anymore.

His own naturally fearful reaction to Gabriel's anger only fueled his own fury. A slow smile spread across Crowley's face, cold and knowing.

He was right.

"Pisses you off, doesn't it? That I can talk to you like this now? Lift my voice and tell you what to do? She _just told you_ that you were wrong about me - about what I deserved, what you had the right to do to me - our _Almighty Creator_ \- and _still_, you think I should be at your feet. On my knees, not talking back. Afraid of you."

Crowley studied Gabriel's face closely as he spoke, and the hungry light in the archangel's eyes chilled his blood. Crowley's mind was filled with memories of the past year they'd spent together - and he knew that Gabriel was remembering the same things.

With drastically different emotions attached to the memories.

Gabriel shrugged slightly, his mouth twisted into an ugly, bitter expression, his words quiet and flat.

"Old habits die hard."

Crowley wanted to hit him again, his clenched fist _itching_ for contact - and the only reason he didn't was the light of triumphant anticipation in Gabriel's eyes. He was bruised and bleeding but still glaring up at Crowley in challenge, determined to control and manipulate him any way he could… even if that meant provoking him to violence.

Aziraphale let out an indignant little huff, shaky, frustrated words bursting from his lips.

"Darling, _please do_ let me kill him now!"

"No." Crowley swallowed slowly, maintaining eye contact with his captive. "I have to do it. If that's what's going to happen. Haven't quite decided."

Aziraphale stared at him in horrified disbelief, and Gabriel barely managed to suppress a smirk.

Crowley held Gabriel's gaze, his words slow and calm and measured. "Seems a bit _quick_, doesn't it? Too easy."

Aziraphale's eyes lit up as he caught on, and then narrowed as he looked toward Gabriel. "What sort of thing did you have in mind, love?"

Impossibly, as much as he _hated_ Gabriel, Crowley wasn't certain he actually _could_ torture him, or anyone. Despite his consistent argument that he was a _demon_, he wasn't kind or good, he was _evil_, bless it, why couldn't his angel _grasp_ that? - in all his long existence, Crowley hadn't ever tortured anyone, unless a bit of malicious mischief now and then counted - and it didn't. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he wasn't at all sure he had it in him to exact his revenge, no matter how deserved it might be.

Still… he had a fair number of ideas.

His eyes fell on the collar on the floor at his feet, and he took his time crouching down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands, glancing up for the gratification of seeing Gabriel's eyes widen as he stared at it too, a slow swallow in his throat.

"He could wear this for a while, for a start." He met Gabriel's eyes, his voice soft and deceptively calm. "Course, I'd be fair about it. Wouldn't set it any higher than the highest level he ever inflicted on _me_."

"It wouldn't work." Gabriel's voice was a little hurried and breathless with quiet desperation. "It's made for demons, not angels."

"Yeah, well…" Crowley shrugged a little, eyeing the device, turning it over in his hands. "Seems She doesn't see much of a difference, yeah? Maybe it'd work the same on you as on me." He looked up to see the traces of panic in Gabriel's eyes as he considered Crowley's point - smiled a little, maliciously teasing. "Shall we find out?"

Gabriel didn't speak, just shook his head slightly in horror.

"I don't know," Aziraphale pointed out with an exaggerated frown. "Hastur's expecting the collar as payment, yes?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, right," Crowley played along as if he'd forgotten. "Well, surely he wouldn't mind a bonus? The collar... along with a ready made test subject."

"Certainly he wouldn't," Aziraphale agreed with enthusiasm. "Capital idea."

"No," Gabriel objected, glancing between them uneasily. "No, look… punish me however you want, as long as you want, but don't turn me over to Hell. How is that any less of a war crime than what Heaven did to you?"

"What _you_ did to me," Crowley corrected him with a sharp, warning look.

"What - _I_ did to you," Gabriel conceded with a shamed little grimace. "All right. Okay. I surrender. You have _fucking won,_ all right? So - leave time frozen for months, or years, or whatever. What's a year, or more, to beings like us? Do what you're gonna do, and I'll take my lumps like a big boy. Just - let me go back to Heaven when you're done."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a cold smile on his lips, making a bit of a show of putting the collar in his pocket and folding his arms over his chest, leaning back in preparation to hear Gabriel's certainly ridiculous case for _that_ suggestion.

"Bold of you to assume I have any intention of letting you _live_ when I'm done."

"You _should_," Gabriel countered, his expression solemn and intent. "Let me go back to Heaven - back to my position…"

Crowley scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, but Gabriel rushed on, urgent, desperate.

"I _know better _now, right? You punish me all you want, break me, put me in my place… and then you can know _for sure_ that I won't make a move against you! For us, it'll have been - however long you decide, but for Heaven - no time will have passed at all. She'll back your choice, whatever it is - so if you decide to send me back there in my original position, She'll make sure it happens. And then - _I _can make sure that _no one_ makes a move against you, that no one bothers you _at all_, either of you - from now on!"

A small, skeptical part of Crowley's mind considered it, just for a moment. It _had_ occurred to him to wonder just what Heaven would think of his judgment of Gabriel. The Almighty hadn't really indicated whether or not She intended to say anything to them about any of this - and the rarity that She said anything to _anyone _left Crowley a little doubtful that She would.

It was possible that She would protect them from the wrath of Heaven, as well as any attacks from Hell. She had a plan, and She had assured Crowley that he and Aziraphale had parts to play in that plan.

But then, Her plan hadn't stopped any of this from happening to them in the first place.

"I'd be your inside man in Heaven," Gabriel went on, his voice a little calmer, though carrying a trace of excitement as it seemed that Crowley was listening to him. "That's appropriate, isn't it? A fair punishment in itself. I wouldn't try anything against you. I'd just make sure no one up there bothers you. That's all. Give me a chance to make this up to you, I _swear_ it, sweetheart…"

_Sweetheart..._

The soft, innocent-sounding word struck Crowley like an icy fist to his chest, momentarily taking his breath, his stomach lurching. Any trace of consideration he might have had for Gabriel's suggestion evaporated in an instant - the very instant that he _knew_, beyond any trace of doubt:

There was only one way this could end.

Gabriel realized his mistake an instant after making it. "Wait, no, no, that's not what I…" His voice trailed off, and he tried again, his pitch rising with anxious desperation, "I'm sorry, I just meant that I could help you, _I can help you_, Crowley, _please_…"

Something in Crowley's demeanor must have screamed out his emotional state in that moment... because Aziraphale was suddenly at his side, a reassuring arm wrapped around his shoulders - and Crowley just _needed_ that comforting touch so much that he couldn't even bring himself to care about how vulnerable it made him look before his fallen enemy. He turned his face in toward his angel, closing his eyes, swallowing hard.

"He'll never stop," he concluded softly, not a trace of doubt in his mind. "Not as long as he's alive."

A lot had changed for Crowley that day. There'd been a fundamental shift in the way he saw himself, for one - after his conversation with the Almighty. He knew now that he was utterly undeserving of the suffering and abuse he'd experienced - that he was good and worthy and _loved_ \- not only by his angel, but by his Creator as well. Already, just that simple knowledge, that certainty, had altered Crowley's demeanor, his behavior - filling him with a quiet confidence he hadn't possessed before. It had only been a few minutes, but for Crowley, everything was… _different_.

Nothing had changed for Gabriel - not really.

His momentary reaction of fear and respect before the Almighty proved nothing except that he wasn't a complete idiot. As soon as She'd gone, he'd resumed his old patterns of behavior. He was chained and kneeling and utterly powerless - and _still,_ trying to manipulate Crowley in any way that he possibly could.

_Sweetheart…_

Gabriel had always used that word to play on Crowley's vulnerabilities - whether to demean him, to make him feel like a worthless object at Gabriel's disposal; or to lull him into compliance with a false sense of gentleness and affection. And this time was no different. He was still doing what he'd always done.

Crowley saw himself differently now - but Gabriel saw him just the same as he always had.

God Herself had placed a tremendous amount of power in Crowley's hands - and Gabriel was trying everything in his power to wrest it away from him.

After all… Crowley was _his_, right? And what was Crowley's - whether it was a soft, safe bed, or the power of God, or Crowley's _very soul itself _\- was Gabriel's to claim if he wanted it.

And he'd _never_ stop trying.

"There's no other way," Crowley said, soft and a little shaky, realizing the truth of the words as he spoke them. "We'll never be safe while he lives."

Aziraphale's expression was solemn and concerned, no trace of the triumph or satisfaction Crowley might have expected on his face at that declaration. He lifted a careful hand to touch Crowley's face, and Crowley raised his own trembling hand to cover it, allowed himself to lean into the touch for just a moment, seeking strength for what he had to do - before gently pulling Aziraphale's hand down and taking a little step back, holding out his hand expectantly.

Aziraphale hesitated just a moment, with a slight frown, but then handed over the Hellfire blade, and stepped back, giving Crowley the space to prepare himself for what he had to do.

It should have been easy.

Gabriel had ruthlessly torn through every part of Crowley's life, body and soul, rending him in pieces and then rearranging the pieces as he liked them. He'd shown no pity for Crowley's pain, for his tears. He'd _enjoyed_ them - but Crowley took no pleasure in this.

"Please," Gabriel said in a soft, tremulous voice, eyes locked onto the blade. "Crowley, _please_…"

Crowley reminded himself how many times he'd whispered or gasped or _sobbed _that word, and steeled himself to deal the killing blow.

"You don't have to," Gabriel insisted, "I heard Her, you own me now, right? You can do whatever you want. _I'll_ do whatever you want! You want me to call you master?"

"_No_," Crowley ground out, frustrated tears filling his eyes. "_I do not_."

"He's _not like_ you." Aziraphale spoke up, his voice quiet but filled with love and pride that washed over Crowley through their bond - a blessed reassurance, if not a help to his current predicament. "He's a great deal better - but if you haven't figured that out by now, you certainly never will."

It occurred to Crowley all at once, with a trembling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn't quite sure he _could_ kill Gabriel. Crowley had never killed _anyone_.

_Pure and blameless,_ She had said. He had remained innocent throughout all of this.

Would he still be, if he did this thing?

He didn't _want _to do it.

He lowered the blade, closing his eyes.

"You don't have to," Gabriel breathed out, the clear relief in his voice galling, but not enough to spur Crowley to deliver a fatal strike. "You don't have to, thank you, I won't make you regret it, I swear…"

"You don't have to do it." Aziraphale's voice was soft and soothing and very close.

Crowley looked up at him in surprise, blinking as his vision cleared. "I - I have to carry out his judgment…"

"That's not _quite _what She said," Aziraphale pointed out gently. "It is yours to _decide_. She never said you need be the one to carry it out."

As Crowley took that in, going back over the conversation in his head and realizing that his angel was right, Aziraphale gently lifted the hand that held the blade, cupping his own hand under Crowley's to support it, then laying his other hand over the handle, but making no move to take it.

"I can do this for you, my love. I _want_ to do this for you."

"I know you do," Crowley whispered, searching Aziraphale's eyes with worry. "That's what scares me, angel."

Aziraphale looked away for a moment, his face falling with the regret that Crowley felt surrounding him. "I'm aware that… my thirst for vengeance on your behalf has been… a bit extreme. I will do nothing more than deliver a single cut - his execution. I won't torture him beyond that, you have my word." He was quiet for a moment, before looking up to meet Crowley's gaze again, sorrow shining forth from his own expressive eyes.

"There's already blood on my hands. Yours should remain clean."

Crowley frowned, troubled by those ominous words. "How, angel?" he asked, soft and concerned. "What have you done?"

"I'll tell you," Aziraphale promised. "After, my love. When he's gone. You have every right to know everything. He doesn't."

Crowley could certainly accept that.

He thought back to the words of the Almighty during Her visit - and how She had confirmed that Aziraphale would be honest with him, would tell him the truth about this mysterious bit of his history that apparently none but the two of them knew. His jaw set, and he nodded once, slowly, deciding.

This had to be done. So that they could be safe. So that they could move on.

So that no one else would ever be hurt by Gabriel the way that Crowley had been.

Very carefully, Crowley placed the Hellfire blade in Aziraphale's hand. They both turned toward Gabriel, who looked absolutely horrified as Aziraphale approached him. Desperately, the archangel tried to pull away, but the chains at his wrists held him fast. Crowley approached him as well, crouching down near him - not pressing into his space or making any attempt to intimidate him, just meeting his panicked gaze with calm resolve.

"You _will _understand, just a _little_ of what I experienced," he stated, quiet and a little sad. "Because… it will _hurt. Everything_ will hurt, _so much_… and you will cry, and you will beg, but you will _know..._ that _nothing_ will change what's going to happen to you. You'll be utterly powerless to stop it. None of your pleas or promises will make any difference."

"No, there has to be some other way," Gabriel insisted, his voice quaking with panic, eyes on the blade in Aziraphale's firm, steady hand. "You don't have to do this!"

"I do," Crowley said softly. "Even if you kept your word - which you wouldn't - and left us alone… you've tasted blood, now. And you're addicted to it. You'd just find someone else to hurt and control - and I can't allow that to happen. In this case, justice… and protecting those you might hurt in the future… requires a death sentence. You _do _deserve this. I didn't." Crowley swallowed slowly, blinking, and repeating the words as he realized that perhaps for the first time, he truly believed them. "_I didn't_."

He stood up straight, looking down at Gabriel with solemn eyes. "For your sins, archangel Gabriel…"

Gabriel just stared up at him in disbelief, as if a part of him still believed that he should have been able to talk Crowley out of this. "No," he whispered, shaking his head slowly in horror. "No, no…"

"...I sentence you to death."

Crowley stepped back, and Aziraphale moved in to take his place. "Quick or slow?" he asked, his tone and expression grim and resolute.

He'd promised not to torture Gabriel; Crowley knew he was referring to the placement of the wound. A cut to Gabriel's fingertip would kill him as easily as a slashed throat - but not nearly so quickly.

"As you like," he replied, carefully level and calm, as he turned and began to walk away.

He knew exactly which he was choosing by leaving the choice to his angel.

"She was _wrong_ about you!"

Gabriel raged at him, furious and panicked, and Crowley heard the rattle of the chains as he jerked against them in a desperate, useless attempt at escape. Crowley stopped, just inside a narrow stream of light that filtered through the stacks. He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing slowly, and just listened.

"You're just what I always said you were!" Gabriel continued, accusing. "Just a wicked, evil demon! You aren't good or kind! You have no mercy! She said you'd show _mercy_!"

Aziraphale's voice was quiet, weary and disgusted. "This _is_ mercy, you _fool_."

"You'll be free to scream." Crowley opened his eyes, but spoke without turning around. "To cry and beg if you like - and neither of us will hurt you any more for expressing your pain. You'll be allowed to feel your suffering without being shamed or punished for it. That's mercy. Neither of us will strip you naked so that we can use and violate you until you believe that you _asked_ for it and that it was _your fault_. _That's _mercy. And - it will _end_. You will experience your punishment - and it will _end_." He swallowed against the knot in his throat, his voice trembling with emotion as he concluded softly, "That's far more mercy than you ever showed me."

"_No!_" Gabriel screamed out. "No, don't, _stop_!"

Crowley walked away into the light, closing his eyes and feeling the sun on his face - too lost in the dark swirling pit of his own troubled memories to know it when Aziraphale made the fatal cut.


	41. Chapter 41

"No! No, don't, _stop_!"

Gabriel's voice was taut with panic, desperate and almost shrill, as he called after Crowley - who simply walked away from him into the sunlight, as if he didn't matter at all… as if he never had. Aziraphale couldn't tear his gaze off of his husband - strong and fierce even in his breathtaking mercy - until he'd turned the corner and disappeared toward the front of the shop.

"Get back here!" Gabriel shrieked at him, furious, demanding. "_Right the fuck now_!"

Indignant, protective fury rising up in his chest, Aziraphale took a step toward the kneeling archangel, his fist clenching around the hilt of the blade.

_You don't get to speak to him like that… not ever again…_

And then, Gabriel's voice broke, strangled into a despairing sob as he realized the futility of his commands. "_Please_. Come back… _come back_…"

Aziraphale's anger was abruptly dampened by pity at the pathetic display - though it wasn't at all the sort of pity that might lead to any change in his chosen course of action.

"Really, _do_ be quiet," he sighed in weary disgust. "I dare say Crowley didn't beg you so easily."

Gabriel glared up at Aziraphale, his striking violet eyes shining with tears that had yet to fall. "I never threatened to _kill_ Crowley," he argued, defensive, almost sullen, as he looked away. "And I never did - though I could have. I could have a long time ago, and I didn't…"

"No, of course not, then you wouldn't have been able to enjoy yourself nearly so much, would you?" Aziraphale snapped. "You expect you deserve some sort of _reward_, just because you never threatened his life - only made him wish to take it himself?"

Gabriel's eyes darted up to Aziraphale's again, sharp and knowing, with a malicious light of satisfaction - and any faint trace of hesitation he might have felt about taking the archangel's life vanished in the light of unmistakable confirmation: Gabriel was not even slightly sorry. He took pleasure even now in the knowledge of how thoroughly he'd broken Crowley, and if given the slightest opportunity, he'd eagerly subjugate and abuse him again.

"Your atrocities are more than enough to merit your fate," Aziraphale concluded with grim certainty. "And I admit I'm going to rather enjoy this. In fact, if it were up to me your punishment would be far more severe."

Gabriel's mouth twisted into a slow, defiant grin. "You're awfully judgmental for someone so bloodthirsty."

Aziraphale took the accusation - accepted and owned it. He knew it was the truth; there was a depth of violent rage deep within him that he was going to have to find a way to manage, if not vanquish utterly. His love for Crowley had driven him to shameful acts, justified to his own mind by the need to protect his demon from any threat of harm - and scarce good it had done him.

It had only brought Aziraphale to a place where he was little better than the Heaven that had ignored Crowley's suffering, while protecting his abuser, and providing Gabriel with an environment where he was free to do as he pleased with Crowley, because of what he was, and what Crowley was. A place of presumption and prejudice, that had encouraged not only Gabriel's abuse of his status - but _Aziraphale's_, as well. He'd once clutched his angelic holiness close around him like a protective shroud - but now, he knew that to be nothing more than arrogant pretense.

It was one's _actions_ that mattered.

Aziraphale's hand flexed around the handle of the blade, his mouth tight with anger.

_Gabriel's_ actions meant that Aziraphale need feel no guilt for ending his existence.

"I am, a bit," he admitted quietly. "Eager, for you to pay for what you've done. And if you'd ever loved anyone as I love Crowley… you'd understand my thirst for vengeance on his behalf. What you did, the - the pleasure you took, was simply in your own power. Your lust was for his suffering - and it was completely unwarranted. Crowley never did a single thing to deserve the things you did to him."

Gabriel scoffed, derisive. "He's a disgusting fucking _demon _and he deserves _anything _I decided to…" His words broke off in a startled yelp as Aziraphale grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced his head down over his shackled wrists. "Hey, get off - _let go of me_!"

Aziraphale ignored his useless protests, holding him down with ease, using the tip of the blade to slide the back of his white dress shirt up - exposing his back. Gabriel went very still all at once with abrupt understanding - and then he _laughed_, low and knowing.

"You're going to carve his name?" he assumed.

"No," Aziraphale answered, calm and quiet, as he drew the edge of the blade in two small strokes across the small of Gabriel's back - a simple _X_, a mere scratch that barely broke the skin - but the skin _was broken_… and it was enough. Aziraphale waited until he'd let Gabriel go and moved back around to face him to speak again, softly, but with conviction and certainty. "You're not worthy to bear his name."

Gabriel met Aziraphale's eyes over a malicious smile, his own bright with the first stirrings of panic. It hadn't quite set in yet, the precise implications of what Aziraphale had just done.

"And _you are_?" Gabriel countered, challenging.

Aziraphale's heart was heavy as he considered the question - considered the mercy Crowley was capable of… and the callus cruelty he himself had displayed.

"No," he answered softly. "I'm not." He glanced out toward the open floor of the bookshop where Crowley had gone, swallowing slowly against the knot in the back of his throat. "He's a better angel than either of us."

Gabriel made a soft, scoffing sound, but Aziraphale ignored him, moving past him. The doomed archangel was no longer of any concern to him, now that he had played the part required of him in administering the fatal blow. For Gabriel, the process of facing his judgment had begun.

And now, it was time for Aziraphale to face his own.

In a deep window near the door was a display of classic fantasy literature that had been there for nearly a decade. They were bound in rich dark leather, with gold lettering across their covers and down their spines, enticing textures hinting at the lush adventures a reader could find inside. Over the last several years, Aziraphale had allowed the dust on their covers to become so thick that the titles could scarcely be read. He found that books were far less enticing to customers when they couldn't tell what they were by looking at the outside.

Seated next to the books, in the window, was Crowley - and there could be no such disguising his loveliness.

He leaned against the wall behind him, staring out with solemn eyes into the stillness of the street - frozen cars and passersby, a traffic signal that remained perpetually yellow signaling them to prepare to stop. His eyes gleamed in the sunlight, the fingers of one hand pressed against the glass casting a narrow shadow across his folded knees.

Aziraphale made no attempt to hide his presence, and Crowley spared him a glance before looking out the window again. The angel approached slowly, placing a careful hand on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley removed his hand from the window to cover Aziraphale's hand instead, lifting it and turning his face in to press a soft kiss to his angel's palm.

Aziraphale shivered a little - and then truly went cold to his core when Crowley's golden eyes gazed up at him through long lashes - solemn and knowing, his voice low and ominous.

"We need to talk, angel."

Aziraphale swallowed slowly, nodding in quiet acceptance and taking a step back as Crowley turned and rose to his feet. "I know."

Crowley closed the slight distance between them, reaching out careful hands to rest at Aziraphale's waist, and on habit born of years of loving intimacy, Aziraphale put his arms around Crowley in return. Although he felt utterly undeserving, he couldn't resist the offered affection, couldn't help drinking it in while he still could. He lowered his head to press a soft kiss against his husband's shoulder before looking up at him again.

_Selfish and greedy, as well as violent and presumptuous in judgment… while Crowley's only shown selfless love and sacrifice and mercy, never so much as raised his hand…_

_It seems you've a vice for his every virtue. What a truly admirable angel you are. _

Crowley did not withdraw, did not recoil from the tender contact in any way… just studied him for a moment, and Aziraphale resisted the impulse to lower his gaze in shame.

At last Crowley spoke again, his words heavy with quiet resignation. "How angry am I going to be?"

"I suspect…" Aziraphale's words came out hoarse and anxious, and he swallowed hard, clearing his throat a little, steadying himself. "I suspect… you may not allow me this close to you, once you know."

Crowley took that in with a slow, thoughtful nod. Then he leaned in, careful and slow, holding Aziraphale's gaze until the last possible moment until he kissed his mouth. The angel froze a moment, then returned the kiss with a caution and deference that was unusual for him, at least in this. Over the course of their relationship, Aziraphale had tended to be the one to take the lead in their encounters - but not this time. Crowley set the pace, and the kiss was slow and tender and deep and thorough… until at last, Crowley withdrew his mouth, withdrew his embrace, stepping back away from Aziraphale with his arms loosely crossed, regarding him speculatively.

Waiting.

All at once Aziraphale understood the kiss, the motivations behind it, and his heart sank with dread.

Neither of them knew exactly what would happen in the next moment. For now, Crowley loved Aziraphale and wanted him close - but a moment from now, he might not. Not for a while - perhaps not at all.

If all that they had was about to come crashing down around their heads under the onslaught of Aziraphale's confession… at the very least, Crowley wanted to be left with the beautiful memory of a _one last kiss_.

_Please… please, don't let it be..._

"I - I want you to know," Aziraphale began, his voice tremulous and halting, his eyes all at once unable to meet Crowley's solemn, piercing gaze, "that… as She said… I did it to protect you. Everything I did… was to protect you."

Crowley nodded once, thoughtful. "Am I going to _want_ this… _partial credit_ you're giving me, for whatever it is that you've done?"

"No, no, no." Aziraphale frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not saying you… it's not _your_ fault at all, my dear, and…" Aziraphale took a breath, closing his eyes, steadying his voice. "No," he tried again, quiet and firm. "No, you're not going to want that. And I'm not trying to put it on you, not a bit of it. _I did it_. And it was wrong, and I see that now. And it was in no way your fault, but… I did do it with no intention but to try to keep you safe."

Crowley listened intently before nodding again, his words low and calm and even. "All right."

"This is… difficult," Aziraphale admitted. "And… I think I'd rather show you than tell you, what happened. What I did, and why. But - that choice is yours. Which would you prefer, my love?"

Crowley was quiet for a moment, considering. "I s'pose… more context is better, yeah?" he concluded at last. "I'd like to… see it how you saw it. Really understand… where you were coming from."

It was a depth of mercy and understanding that Aziraphale was quite certain he did not deserve.

And he wasn't sure if it would make Crowley more likely to forgive him, or less.

He reached out his hands toward Crowley's head, waiting for Crowley to move closer and reach out to him as well before completing the circuit, and opening his mind up to his husband to reveal the memory. He resisted the instinctive desire to wrap his wings around them both, as he usually did when they were sharing this level of intimacy.

In a few moments, Crowley might wish to sever their contact entirely, to recoil from him in disgust.

Aziraphale had no right to restrain him from doing so.

In the light of all he knew now - of the depths of evil and depravity to which angels could fall without Falling… of the soaring heights of unspeakable loving sacrifice to which a demon could ascend… of the love of a God who still saw the two artificially divided classes as one, all of them Her children She wished to restore into relationship with Herself… a depth of guilt and grief swept over Aziraphale as the memory flooded his mind, his offense more vivid than in the moment when he'd committed it.

A demon stood trapped in a summoning circle just a few feet away from where they were now. Aziraphale cringed as he listened to himself, threatening the demon with torture by holy water when he was resistant to his demands. Eventually, he'd told Aziraphale everything he knew. The entire time, his level of hostility hadn't gone beyond a few taunting comments… nothing even close to resembling a true threat.

But he _knew_… the truth about Aziraphale and Crowley. He _knew_… and for that, Aziraphale had taken it upon himself to decide: he had to die. It was reasonable. It was justified, as a means of protecting Crowley from the punishment of Hell.

After all… it was _just a demon_.

He could feel Crowley's horror and revulsion, his utter disbelief, as together they heard him _apologize_, almost _casually_… then watched as he poured out the holy water along the edges of the circle, condemning his helpless captive to a swift but agonizing death and walking away, not even granting the poor doomed creature the respect of staying long enough to watch him die.

Aziraphale found himself violently jolted out of the memory as Crowley abruptly broke the connection, stumbling back a few steps away from the angel - who all at once felt cold and bereft and, albeit deservedly, abandoned.

"He didn't _do_ anything!" Crowley sputtered breathlessly, aghast. "He didn't deserve that! He told you everything you wanted to know!"

"I know," Aziraphale said softly, his words heavy with guilt. "I… thought he might have told his superiors..."

"_Everyone knew anyway_!" Crowley sounded anguished, devastated, his hands spread in front of him in a plaintive, imploring gesture. "Aziraphale, _how_? How could you think that was _okay_?"

"I - I know it's not," Aziraphale assured him, his gaze lowered, his eyes burning with tears. "I just… I thought I was protecting you…"

"He could as easily have _been_ me!"

Aziraphale flinched away from Crowley's raised, accusing voice, his heart aching with the dead-center hit of Crowley's truthful words. His justifications for what he'd done to a nameless, unknown demon who might well have been as innocent as Crowley were probably quite similar to the excuses Gabriel had used in the beginning, his "_reasons" _for torturing Crowley.

"I know," Aziraphale admitted quietly, his throat aching, his words weighted with grief. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Do you want to know why Gabriel never Fell, even after all he did?" Crowley demanded, seething righteous fury blazing from his words. "Or why _no angel_ has Fallen for the past several millennia? Because we're _the same_! Fallen or not, in Her eyes - the same. He'd be the same vile monster if he Fell, only - under Hell's jurisdiction, so… basically my co-worker…"

Crowley words trailed off a little, his eyes wide and distant as he shuddered at the very thought. Aziraphale felt a cold, creeping sensation at the base of his spine at the idea of what could have happened, had Gabriel's judgment not been placed in Crowley's hands. He looked up at Crowley, anxious and uncertain, as Crowley finally met his gaze again. His words were quiet and solemn.

"Hell doesn't have rules about harassment, sexual or otherwise. She knew if he Fell - it'd be punishing me more than him. And it wouldn't have changed anything about _who he is_. Angel or demon - it's all the same. As a demon, he'd still be… _him_. Still be… trying to own me. Trying to hurt me. He'd just have… better access. So… Falling was no just judgment for him. He deserves to be punished for _what he's done_ \- not for _what he is_."

Aziraphale knew it was the truth. He'd known it before Crowley said it.

He hadn't understood it, at the time when Crowley had been taken and he'd been desperately searching for him, absolutely _everywhere except Heaven_. The one place he hadn't even considered looking was exactly where Crowley had been held and viciously tortured and abused in ways that no one in Hell had ever conceived of.

He'd thought Crowley was the exception - the one demon in all of existence capable of love and gentleness and _goodness_, no matter how vehemently he might try to deny it. He'd thought angels incapable of the type of brutality that had been inflicted on him.

He'd been _so very, very wrong_.

"You want to know what kind of person he was? The demon you _murdered_?"

Crowley's voice was quiet and calm. Aziraphale still flinched at the word, but nodded slowly.

He owed at least that much - to know it and face it.

Crowley shrugged slightly, shaking his head. "I'd like to know, too. But I don't. I didn't know him personally. Didn't know _of_ him, either, which that alone in Hell says a little bit. He wasn't known for any particularly nasty deeds of note. Seems he might have been just trying to get by, fly under the radar. Might have been like me."

Aziraphale was overwhelmed, both with his own shame, and with a sense of awe and reverence for Crowley - who had always understood … well, _everything_… with so much greater clarity and honesty than Aziraphale had ever allowed himself to see it. His voice was thick with emotion, his eyes welling with tears, as he spoke.

"_No one's_ like you…"

"_Don't_." Crowley snapped out the single word with a cold, disgusted severity that made Aziraphale wince. "I'm _different_? I'm _special_, and _that's_ why it's wrong? Because otherwise, it'd be _just fine _for them to kill me, like you killed him? To kidnap me, to rape me, to - to do _this_ to me?" Crowley took the collar out from his pocket, holding it up in Aziraphale's face, shaking it, tears streaking his face. Furious, his words and his hands fairly _vibrating_ with rage, he snapped the collar into two pieces, then the two pieces into four, then hurled them to the floor between them. "_This_ is not okay to do to _anyone, ever_!"

He snapped his fingers, and the pile of broken pieces burst into flames, melting away far more quickly than should have been naturally possible, until it was a molten silver puddle that sank through the floor and disappeared. Aziraphale stared at the spot where it had been for a long moment, his throat aching, his eyes burning, tears sliding down his face.

He stared at the spot, because he couldn't bring himself to meet Crowley's anguished eyes.

Crowley was quiet for a little while, gulping in deep, sobbing breaths, struggling to regain his composure. Aziraphale longed to go to him, to comfort him - but he knew it was not wanted, or needed, in this moment.

He had _no right_ to try to soothe this hurt and anger out of Crowley's heart.

"We're not giving it to Hell," Crowley said at last, his voice low and trembling, but filled with quiet conviction.

Aziraphale resisted the impulse to point out _obviously not_, and instead simply shook his head. "We're not," he agreed.

"It shouldn't be used on anyone again. Angels or demons. No one."

"You're right," Aziraphale said, quiet and subdued. "Of course you're right."

"Hastur can just…"

Crowley's words trailed off, his expression troubled, and Aziraphale felt a cold pit in his stomach. He had heard Gabriel's words while he'd been pretending to be frozen - about his discovery that demons needed an invitation to get past the sanctuary barrier as well as angels. He wondered if Hastur was even _alive_... or if he'd proven Crowley's point at the cost of his own life.

"I'm not the exception here, because you happen to _love_ me." Crowley's words were quiet, but deeply impactful. "If what you did is all right… then what _he_ did is all right." His voice was choked, thick with emotion, and he turned his head away, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat.

Aziraphale moved with his motion, back into his line of sight, aching to maintain some sort of connection, to not be shut out entirely. "It wasn't, none of it was all right," he agreed with desperate, pleading urgency. "Not for him, and not for me." He reached out a tentative hand toward Crowley's arm. "My darling, it was so very wrong. _I_ was so very wrong, I do see that now…"

"Conveniently _after_ you've gotten what you wanted." Crowley jerked his arm away from Aziraphale's touch, glaring at him through tear-filled golden eyes. "_Both of you_."

The viciously spat out words were a slap to Aziraphale's face.

He took a step back, retreating out of Crowley's space, his eyes downcast, feeling utterly chastised.

"He'll be paying the price for it," he pointed out quietly. "Very soon now. As he deserves." He paused, swallowing hard. "And… perhaps I should be punished, too. I know I deserve it, for…"

A low moan could be heard from the next room, and Aziraphale allowed his words to trail off, his gaze turning toward the heavily laden shelves that blocked Gabriel from their view. Crowley sighed in frustration, raising his hands to scrub at his eyes for a moment, visibly overwhelmed with Aziraphale's confession, with Gabriel's judgment, with the entire situation. To Aziraphale's alarm, he started to move past him to go and check on Gabriel.

Protective instinct told Aziraphale that that was not a good idea; the last thing he wanted was for Crowley to be alone with Gabriel _at all_ \- and he knew that at the moment, Crowley would _most certainly not_ want Aziraphale to follow him.

He reached out a gentle but firm hand to stop him, catching his arm.

And _that_ was an even _worse_ idea.

"_Don't._"

There was a dangerous, warning edge to Crowley's voice as he turned a fierce, challenging glare on Aziraphale, fully serpentine eyes cast pointedly down to his hand, and then meeting Aziraphale's gaze again until he pulled his hand away, holding it up apologetically.

"I'm sorry, love," Aziraphale said softly. "It's just…" He met Crowley's eyes, gently pleading, willing Crowley to see his concern. "You don't have to."

"I do." Crowley's voice was soft and steel at the same time, eyes glittering with defiant tears. "It's mine," he stated firmly. "I have to own it."

Aziraphale couldn't argue the truth of his words - couldn't speak at all, so deeply moved he was, so awed by this breathtaking, beautiful creature that, damned or not, was so, so much better than he could have ever dreamed of being. Realization dawned in Aziraphale's mind as he watched Crowley walk away from him - the clear understanding that there was _so much_ he could learn from this precious demon he loved.

If his demon still loved him back.

If Crowley wasn't going to be _absolutely done_ with him when all was said and done.

_I'm sorry. It was wrong, I was wrong, and I'm truly so very sorry, just… _

_Please. Please… don't let me lose him. _

Gabriel was still fairly composed, though he was breathing harder, faster than normal, his body tense with visible pain. Crowley observed him quietly for a moment, waiting until the kneeling archangel looked up at him through shadowed, red-rimmed eyes to speak.

"You've started to feel it."

"What, you've come to gloat?" Gabriel sneered, his voice defiant even as it trembled.

"No." Crowley shook his head a little. "Just to witness. I may not have struck the blow… but this is my doing. I should witness it, not just… walk away."

Gabriel tilted his head a little in mock confusion, eyes narrowed. "Hmm," he remarked, surprisingly glib given his predicament. "Not really seeing how that's _not_ gloating."

"Easy," Crowley replied, his words quiet and flat, an ache of sorrow in his chest. "I'm not proud of this. I'm not… particularly enjoying it. It's just… I made the decision, and… it's on me to see it through. To - know that it's done. That you're gone."

"Yeah," Gabriel's words were slow, taunting, despite the hitch in his breath, his flinch at an unseen pain as the Hellfire forged into the blade worked its way a little deeper into his system, "but that's the rub, isn't it?" He was quiet a moment, allowing space for his words to sink in, holding Crowley's gaze, malicious and defiant. "I never will be, will I? Not really."

Crowley couldn't quite find the strength to deny it.

Neither could he go back to his angel - not yet.

He paced the floor a bit, tuning out Gabriel's quiet, trembling, increasingly desperate taunts as best he could - a task that was somewhat easier than it might have been, had his mind not been so thoroughly consumed with the revelation that had just been dropped on him - Aziraphale's confession.

On some level he knew that Aziraphale had thought he was doing it for Crowley - had thought he was protecting him from harm. He knew that Aziraphale would never have justified any of the atrocities committed against him by Gabriel's hand, with and without Heaven's consent. He knew that Aziraphale knew _now_ that he'd been wrong - that the act he'd committed had been _murder_.

He also knew the state of Aziraphale's heart at the moment when he'd done it.

He'd seen the cold detachment of the act - as if it didn't really matter, because it wasn't an _actual person_ he was killing. Not a human, not an angel.

_Just a demon_.

As the sunlight began to fade, the light from the front of the shop growing dim, the muddled onslaught of Gabriel's words became increasingly disjointed, increasingly frenetic, insults and threats mingled with pleading words and false promises, barely a breath apart as the self-control of the confident, smooth archangel slipped from his grasp, giving way to the intensity of his pain and terror.

Crowley knew he should stay, should watch what he had wrought - but after a while, he had to walk away.

Just for a little while.

Aziraphale was still waiting in the shop, near the window where he'd found Crowley earlier - and Crowley walked past him, dismissing his anxious, concerned words. He was still angry with him, and had no intention of letting him close anytime soon. He sat down in the window where he'd been before, arms crossed over his chest, glaring warningly as Aziraphale knelt down on the floor near his feet, leaning into the wall. Both were quiet for a while, the silence stretched taut between them, until at last Aziraphale broke the silence, his words hushed and earnest.

"You've done the right thing."

Crowley glared at him. Aziraphale's face fell - and Crowley's anger seethed hotter at the very guilt he felt for putting that look on his angel's face.

_He _should _feel bad. Should feel bloody _terrible _for what he's done, not like some… fucking paragon of virtue that should be reassuring _me _that I've made the right bloody call…_

"I know I have," he snapped, defensive. "I don't need _you_ making my choices for me, as if you know so much _better_!"

"I-I know," Aziraphale admitted, quiet and subdued.

"You shouldn't have done it, and you should have _told me_, and you shouldn't have called in the blessed _Almighty Herself _without so much as asking what I _thought_ about it…"

"She… _did_ help…" The withering glare Crowley gave him silenced Aziraphale's meek observation, and he winced. "No, not at all the point, I know…"

Crowley looked out the window again, trying to make sense of the dark, swirling thoughts that filled his mind - hurt and confusion and - infuriatingly, because no matter how pissed off he was with him, Aziraphale still knew him better than anyone ever had or would - guilty uncertainty as to the the decision he'd made regarding Gabriel's fate.

"You hardly need _my_ approval, for anything," Aziraphale continued, careful and quiet, and despite his anger Crowley couldn't help but respect the courage - or perhaps simple _audacity_ \- he was showing by the fact that he was still talking _at all_. "You're clearly the better of the two of us at making the right moral choices. But… I just wanted you to know, I - I _do_ feel you've made the right choice."

Crowley swallowed hard, his quiet words stony and stubborn. "If I'd chosen to let him live, he'd have kept hurting people. Whether or not he kept trying to hurt _me_."

Aziraphale nodded. "He would have. Kept trying."

It was only confirmation of what Crowley already knew to be true… what he'd been told from God's own lips. Gabriel had been spared his Fall, not as a mercy to him, but as a mercy to _everyone else_.

But most of all, to Crowley.

Crowley couldn't think of much of anything more terrifying than the idea of the Archangel Fucking Gabriel, as a demon lord in Hell - as powerful as ever, only with virtually unlimited access to Crowley. It wasn't as if Hell protected its own, _from_ its own. Official policy seemed to be that you'd best know how to protect _yourself_, and you wouldn't be punished for doing so. Neither would you be protected if some more powerful demon decided to target you.

And Gabriel would have _never stopped_ targeting Crowley.

"I know," he conceded quietly, not quite looking at the kneeling angel at his feet - not able to bring himself to pull away when he felt Aziraphale's hand wrap gently around his calf.

"I… would do anything to keep you safe." Aziraphale's voice was hoarse, halting and broken. "Break any law. Commit any sin."

Crowley looked down at him, allowing his touch, waiting until Aziraphale looked up at him, his own words hushed and quietly speculative.

"Would you have killed him, if he was an angel?"

Aziraphale's brilliant blue eyes were stricken with guilt, and he looked away, shaking his head. "I don't know," he whispered. "Now, if I thought he was truly a threat to you... yes. But… then… I… I didn't realize, didn't… understand. You're right. We're the same, angels and demons. Equally capable of good or evil. Equally deserving of mercy and of judgment. I - I know this now."

Crowley looked down at him for a moment, trying uselessly to hold onto his cold, angry demeanor - before at last he sighed, and slid off of the windowsill, lowering himself to sit against the wall next to Aziraphale. The angel looked up at him through anxious, hopeful eyes, biting his lip. Crowley held his gaze, his voice soft and solemn.

"I'm not only worthy of life, or of freedom… because you love me, angel."

Aziraphale's eyes widened with horror at the suggestion. "No, of course not!" he agreed, lowering his gaze with shame. "And I was wrong to ever imply such a thing. To ever - value the life of a demon as less than my own, or less than yours, or - less than anyone's. I - I deserve judgment for that. And yet, I'm receiving mercy." He shook his head a little, at a loss. "I don't know _why_ I'm receiving mercy, when I deserve…" He looked up into Crowley's eyes again, a thought occurring to him. "Perhaps it's… for you? She showed mercy on me, for you, because… it'd hurt you if I - if I was…"

Crowley smiled a little, sadly. "No."

Aziraphale flinched, visibly wounded.

"It _would_, angel," Crowley reassured him, before the misunderstanding could break his heart _too_ much. "Yeah, I'm - bloody pissed at you right now, but - it _would_ hurt. Losing you. But - that's not why. You're… a part of Her plan. So am I. She told me… you're the _first_."

Aziraphale's brow creased in a wondering frown.

"A work in progress," Crowley continued, weighing his words so as to reveal just enough without revealing too much of the things She'd spoken to him in secret. "Others will follow. You're not perfect - still learning - but you _are learning_. Trying. I'm not happy, angel. It's a horrible thing that you did… but you did it because of that bloody black and white thinking drilled into your head in Heaven… and you know that's wrong, and you know what you _did_ was wrong, and you're sorry for it.."

An anguished groan from the next room drew Crowley's attention back to the one he knew would _never_ learn or grow or move past his malicious prejudices - and not just because he wasn't going to live through the night. With a heavy sigh, Crowley rose to his feet, gently reaching out to squeeze Aziraphale's hand first, his heart warming at the grateful relief in his angel's eyes.

He couldn't help loving Aziraphale, despite his mistakes. Couldn't possibly imagine not _ever_ forgiving him, when he was truly sorry, truly working to do better, to _be_ better. It might take time to get past what he'd done... to get _him_ past it.

Crowley just had to help him keep learning - keep moving toward the part he'd one day play in the plan She'd revealed to him.

When Crowley stepped into the room where he'd left Gabriel, the archangel lunged at him with a growl like a furious, wounded animal. Crowley didn't even flinch, just stared down at him without fear - and not without a little pity.

"Is this what you wanted?" Gabriel snarled. "For me to suffer, to _want_ to die? Fine, you win! Just kill me and be done with it!"

Crowley was quiet, taking in his words. "That bad, is it? So bad you'd rather not live another moment than endure the misery of your existence?" He thought about it for a moment, then mused, "So bad… so quickly."

"Like _you_ never wanted to end it!" Gabriel taunted him, his words rushed and feverish and tumbling over each other. "I healed you! I put you back together after your failed suicide attempt! I _saw _it!"

"After something like… _eight months_ of torture at your hands," Crowley pointed out. "Not… a few hours. Anyway, you said yourself… I wasn't trying to die. I was trying to escape."

Gabriel let out a low, malicious laugh, his words shaky and breathless, but vicious. "_You never will_."

Crowley swallowed slowly, his mouth dry, feeling faintly sick. On some level, he knew Gabriel was right. He'd be seeing the archangel's face in his nightmares… hearing the insidious attack of his whisper in the back of his mind… haunted by the memories for the rest of his eternal existence. He turned to leave the room again.

_This was a mistake… need to just get away…_

Behind him, the malicious laughter faded into desperate sobs.

"_Wait_," Gabriel pleaded. "No, wait… it's too much, hurts too much, just make it stop, make it stop, _please_…"

A vivid memory filled Crowley's mind, of the very incident Gabriel had just mentioned - crawling to the archangel's feet with blood dripping from his arm, clutching at the hem of his trousers and pleading with him for mercy, for help, to just _make the pain stop_.

And Gabriel had walked away.

Crowley's tone was hard and cold. "It will stop."

"No, no, you don't know… you don't know what this _feels_ like… please…"

Crowley stopped where he stood, closing his eyes. He couldn't imagine that it could be worse than the pain of the collar at its highest levels… than the agony of having his wings wrenched to the very instant before they would have been torn from his body, and then kept there while they were whipped with blessed chains, while he was raped and violated, every motion a fresh agony of suffering.

He couldn't imagine - but the Hellfire blade _was_ supposed to be the most agonizing death an angel could experience.

He hesitated a moment, before speaking softly, only half-turning his face toward Gabriel.

"Tell me."

"It's like… like every nerve is on fire," Gabriel sobbed out, his voice breaking, his back arching as a fresh spasm of pain washed through him, and he groaned. "Ugh, it's _burning_… like… hot lava pouring over m-my body, my - my wings, every - everything _on fire_…" His words choked off, and he shook with agony, his next words breathless and frantic. "It's all I can f-feel, all I can - can think - the pain, it's - all there is, I can't b-breathe, can't - think, it's just… every part of me is _burning_ like… it feels like… like…"

Crowley turned to face him at last, a cold leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Falling," he supplied in a whisper, his heart racing. "It feels like _Falling_."

_Of course_ it did.

_Of course _the worst means of death ever devised for an angel was meant to simulate the suffering of the Fall.

His back to the outer part of the shop, Crowley knelt down next to Gabriel, who was just weeping, broken, over his bound hands.

"It feels like Falling," he reiterated. "It feels like the Level 10 punishment you put me through. For _hours_. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, God, _yes_," Gabriel sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"You said…" Crowley drew in a shaky breath, struggling for his composure, then let out a harsh, tearful laugh. "You said, '_welcome home'_. Hell was never home to me, but - it was never so horrible as that. I would have gladly gone back there, over suffering on the floor of that cell, for hours, feeling… _this_." He gestured vaguely toward Gabriel with a trembling hand, though the archangel wasn't looking at him, his face bowed against his bound wrists.

"_Please_," he wept. "Please, just… end it. Just end _me_. Please."

Crowley felt the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder - supportive and steady, and preceded enough by the feeling of his angel's presence that he didn't find it startling or frightening. Aziraphale gently squeezed his shoulder - and only then did Crowley realize that his own body was trembling. His face was streaked with tears, and had been for long enough that a few of them had fallen in wet drops on the floor in front of his knees.

"It'd be more mercy than you _ever_ showed me," he whispered. "You _deserve_ this. You deserve to _feel_ it."

Despairing, Gabriel's shoulders shook with sobs. "I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I'm sorry, I know I do, I'm sorry, _please_…"

Crowley wasn't sure it was real - but it _felt_ real.

The ache in Gabriel's broken words resonated with his own damaged spirit. He could remember weeping and pleading like that, genuinely sorry and desperate for mercy - and he took no pleasure or satisfaction in being the one to deny that mercy to Gabriel, to witness his suffering without ending it.

All at once, he just felt desperately weary - and for the first time in perhaps _ever_… he wanted the exact same thing that Gabriel wanted.

He wanted Gabriel _gone_.

From their lives. From existence. _Forever_.

It was time.

He took Aziraphale's hand, tugged lightly, and his angel steadied him as he rose to his feet. He leaned into Aziraphale's side, allowing himself to be held for just a moment, taking strength from Aziraphale's strong, warm arm wrapped around him, before he withdrew, holding out his hand wordlessly.

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale asked. Careful. Respectful. "I - I wanted to take this burden from you, this… bloodshed…"

Crowley shook his head. "This isn't bloodshed. That bit's done. You did take it for me." He allowed Aziraphale a sad, grateful smile. "An act of mercy won't add any stain to my soul."

Aziraphale's brow was furrowed with concern, but he slowly nodded... and then carefully placed the blade in Crowley's hand.

Crowley turned toward Gabriel, his hand tight around the handle of the Hellfire blade, his shoulders squared, head held high. "Get up," he ordered quietly. "Up onto your knees."

Gabriel lifted his tear-streaked face, looking up at Crowley with desolate, stricken eyes, that went wide with relief as they fell on the blade in Crowley's hand. He lifted himself up to a proper kneeling position with an effort, visibly struggling through the pain.

"Yes, please," he whispered, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "Thank you… thank you…"

"It's over," Crowley declared. "From this moment on… I'll be free of you. Maybe not all at once, no. But - I'll forget. A little more each day. Until the day comes when you don't cross my mind. Not even once." He smiled through tears, allowing Aziraphale's careful fingers to lace with those of his free hand. "It'll take a while, yeah. But I _will_ escape you. I already have."

Gabriel nodded desperately. "Yes," he agreed. "I understand, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"This is mercy," Crowley declared. "A swifter death than you had been condemned to."

"Yes," Gabriel repeated in a breathless whisper. "Thank you, thank…"

His voice was cut off, slipping into eternal silence, as with a single swift motion Crowley stepped forward, his lowered hand sliding the blade upward into the archangel's chest. His violet eyes went wide, staring up into Crowley's in an instant of shock, before they glazed over and went empty. Crowley withdrew the blade, slick with golden blood, and stared down at it with wide, disbelieving eyes, as Gabriel's lifeless body slumped to the floor.

It was really, truly over.

And Crowley did not feel the tremendous sense of satisfaction he'd expected to feel - or even relief, not really. He was numb, staring down at the blade in shock. He jumped a little when he felt Aziraphale's arms slide around him - and then abruptly dropped the blade in alarm. He didn't want it anywhere near his angel, at any risk of accidentally harming him. Trembling, he turned into Aziraphale's embrace, holding onto him tightly as tried to process the overwhelming weight of what had just happened.

Gabriel was _gone_.

The constant threat Crowley had felt from the very instant Aziraphale had taken him from Heaven - the ever-present knowledge in the back of his mind that at any moment, the archangel could come and take his angel's life and take him away again, back to an existence of nothing but suffering and degradation - it had lifted from off his shoulders in an instant.

It was a difficult thing to _believe_, all at once.

"It's all right, my darling…" Aziraphale's voice was hushed and trembling, his fingers soft in Crowley's hair, his lips barely daring to brush against Crowley's temple. "You've done it. You've stopped him. You're _free_."

_Free._

It was that word that broke the resistance of Crowley's mind to reality - that made it all at once, completely and utterly… _real_.

At last, Crowley allowed himself to collapse in his angel's arms, his tears of exhausted, overwhelming relief overcoming him. He wasn't a slave anymore, and never would be again. He was free - free to _live_, to make his own decisions for right or for wrong… to love his angel with all of his heart and soul, and not fear the consequences that might come of their love being found out. Their love didn't place them in danger anymore.

She had _promised_.

He _did_ love Aziraphale, with everything within him. And he knew that he'd love him, and be loved by him, forever. He hadn't _quite _forgiven him - not yet, not completely.

But he knew that he would.

And lead him, patiently, into the future that She had promised they would share.

With each other… and with the world.


	42. Chapter 42

As Crowley sank to the floor, Aziraphale went down with him onto his knees, his arms wrapped around him, steadying his shaking body, holding him close and safe against the onslaught of mingled emotions that overwhelmed him in the wake of Gabriel's death. It felt like a deeply undeserved honor, to be allowed to touch him like this.

It felt like a privilege he should not have been permitted.

But Crowley clung to him, trembling fingers tangled in the fabric of Aziraphale's shirt, face pressed tight into the crook of his neck - and if Crowley needed this contact right now, needed to take comfort in his angel's nearness - Aziraphale could not possibly deny him. He was simply grateful to be allowed this tenderness, this intimacy, in spite of his own mistakes - to hold Crowley close in his arms.

His _husband_ \- the most unspeakably courageous creature Aziraphale had ever known - would likely think himself weak for this open display of anguish for all he'd suffered, grief for what he'd lost, and relief that it was finally, truly _over_ and he was safe.

But Aziraphale knew better.

His beautiful Crowley, Fallen or not, was truly _strong_ \- stronger than Aziraphale himself could dream of being. He'd shown a depth of grace and generosity of spirit that Aziraphale could only aspire to, his own thirst for vengeful violence left unsated by the merciful death Crowley had allowed the archangel. It seemed strange that Crowley should somehow have become Aziraphale's moral compass.

_But it _shouldn't _be strange, should it?_ Aziraphale reminded himself, a sharp ache in his heart. _Isn't that the whole point?_

"Shhh, my darling, it's all right," Aziraphale whispered, pressing a kiss against Crowley's temple, one arm wrapped tight around his waist, while his fingers brushed soothingly through his hair. "It's all right, he can never hurt you, not ever again…"

Crowley let go of Aziraphale with one hand, at last managing to snap his fingers after a couple of attempts that failed due to the shaking of his hands - and all at once, they were upstairs on their sofa, alone together in their safe space, with Gabriel's body far out of sight.

Aziraphale settled comfortably into the corner of the sofa, drawing Crowley close and wrapping his arms around him, his fingers sliding, slow and rhythmic, over his back, through his hair. He kept his voice low and even, soothing, as he spoke gentle reassurances into the calm stillness that settled over them, until at last Crowley was no longer trembling, his breath slow and even, and his tears abated.

"I _do_ need you, angel," Crowley confessed at last, quiet and still. "Always will." He looked up into Aziraphale's eyes. "You should know that."

The breathtaking vision of the unmasked devotion in Crowley's golden gaze blurred, Aziraphale's eyes stinging with tears, as an overwhelming feeling of _relief _swept over him. He blinked, and the tears slid down his face, before he lowered his head to hide it against Crowley's shoulder.

"I need you, too," he choked out, the words hoarse and quietly desperate. "_More_." He looked up, hoping he could make Crowley see, make him _understand_ the depth of what he was trying to express. "I'd be lost - my _literal soul, lost_ \- without you." He hesitated just a moment, holding Crowley's eyes as he whispered, hushed and reverent, "_My_ angel."

Crowley blinked, visibly taken aback, lips parted as if to protest - but then he stopped himself, his expression softening, his body relaxing into Aziraphale's arms again.

It was a truth they were both going to need a while to fully accept and internalize.

Fallen or not - Crowley had never ceased to be an angel.

There was a sort of tension in the air around them - as if they both knew without being told that the moment they rose from this secret, quiet place together, the entire _world_ would change around them. And while that change was good and necessary… it was new and unsettling as well. So they just stayed there in quiet stillness for a while, content to feel only the warmth and nearness of each other - still simple and natural to them in a way that nothing else had ever been.

At last, with a soft, heavy sigh, Crowley reluctantly sat up, giving his angel a sleepy smile.

"I suppose it's about time I… well… did something about… _time_."

Aziraphale knew he was right. They couldn't just stay here in this endlessly stolen moment forever.

"They'll be coming for him," the angel pointed out quietly. "They'll know right away that he's dead. It'll be the first thing they'll be aware of the moment time restarts. And - it's unlikely they'll be pleased." He paused, thinking it through, a little surprised that he was only mildly worried by the idea of Heaven's reaction. "I'm not sure about the sanctuary barrier, now that She's come and heard our case and made Her decision…"

"In our favor," Crowley reminded him. "The sanctuary will last as long as I need it." His words were quietly certain, and Aziraphale could hear the echo of Her promise in them. "But - I don't suspect we'll need it for much longer."

He snapped his fingers, and time restarted.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers as well to perform an accompanying miracle of his own - to hide the bookshop from the view of all the human passersby on the street outside its doors. To any human who happened to walk that way, it would appear as if there was no shop there - as if there had never been one at all. They would feel a particular disinterest in whatever might occupy that certain boring little street corner. If in fact, anything occupied it at all. Once past it, they wouldn't quite be sure.

After all - there was a very human-appearing corpse chained to the bookshop floor at the moment, and that was the sort of thing that might draw quite a bit more unwanted attention to Aziraphale's little shop than he had ever had to contend with before.

They remained there for a while… waiting. Hours passed, with the two of them occasionally talking in hushed, private tones… occasionally just lying there quiet… both together and separately working through all that had happened, all that had changed, in the past few hours.

When at last the bell rang, they knew it had to be someone from one of their respective "sides", as no human would have known the shop was there at all. They reluctantly extricated themselves from the comfortable shelter of their shared embrace, and made their way down the stairs to the front door.

Crowley opened it to reveal Michael standing outside.

She looked up to meet his eyes for just a moment before looking away, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I - I'm here to take his body. May I come in?"

Crowley blinked, surprise on his face to mirror Aziraphale's, at her directness. "Depends. Are you going to try to take vengeance as well?"

Michael swallowed slowly, her eyes downcast for a moment before she drew in a breath and looked up at Crowley again. "What happened to him _was_ vengeance," she declared quietly. "_Her_ vengeance - as we've been informed."

Aziraphale tensed, braced for conflict, as Michael reached into the inner pocket of her jacket - but all she withdrew was a single sheet of paper, miraculously unfolded, unwrinkled, and embossed in dark gold lettering.

"You're meant to have a copy," she said, holding it out for Crowley, who cautiously reached past the barrier just enough to take it from her hand. "It was in the instructions."

Crowley's eyes narrowed, and he studied her closely, rather than reading the paper. "Whose instructions?"

"It was hand-delivered - well, _personally_ delivered - by the Metatron," Michael explained. "Her direct orders regarding - this entire unfortunate situation. And I assure you, the _last_ thing I would do right now is attempt to harm you." She looked away from Crowley to meet Aziraphale's openly hostile gaze with a pleading, anxious look. "Either of you."

There was a moment's tense silence before, much to Aziraphale's dismay and alarm, Crowley stepped back away from the door a bit. "Come in."

Michael nodded once, humbly appreciative, and stepped past him into the bookshop, following Crowley's outstretched, indicating arm to the place where Gabriel's body still lay where it had fallen. She froze, staring down at the archangel's still, lifeless form in shock and dismay. She flinched when Crowley snapped his fingers near and to the right of her, but all that happened was that the chains fell away from Gabriel's wrists.

A grim smile passed Crowley's lips. "Sanctuary means I can't harm you, either," he reminded her.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Aziraphale let out a soft, scoffing sound. Crowley merely raised an eyebrow, meeting her eyes in a wordless challenge.

Michael immediately relented, her shoulders falling, swallowing slowly. "All right, that's not true," she admitted. "But that's not… it's just that… I'm not allowed to harm you. It's all there in the message. You and Aziraphale, you're - to be left alone. Not attacked or harassed in any way. Any - obligations either of you might have, to - to Heaven, or to Hell - are to be considered paid in full." She hesitated a moment before looking up at Crowley again, something akin to regret in her eyes. "The project - it's been dissolved. When it came to Her attention, She… _strongly_ disapproved."

"You don't say," Crowley drawled.

Michael hesitated. "I... was wrong," she said at last, stilted and halting. "About you. I'm... sorry."

"That sounded rather painful for you." Crowley smirked. "Are you quite all right?" The mockery in his voice was almost sympathetic. "That must have been in the instructions, too, I take it?"

"No." Michael frowned. "Not… directly. But… it seemed like the proper thing to do."

"It is," Crowley said quietly. "I'd like to hear it again when and if you ever mean it."

Aziraphale was unspeakably proud of him - so calm and composed in the face of the archangel he'd trembled and nearly gone to his knees before days earlier. His quiet perception, so clearly unnerving to Michael, only made Aziraphale admire him more than ever.

_But then… he's always seen what I could not._

Michael frowned, lips parted to speak. She faltered a bit before finally venturing, "It's just that I'm… confused. In that message, She - She calls you Her _child_."

Crowley blinked, a little startled, suddenly taking a stronger interest in the paper he held. Aziraphale swiftly moved toward him, curious as well, to glance at it over his shoulder.

"Yes," Crowley confirmed after scanning it for a moment, his tone all at once soft and distant. "That seems to be the case."

Michael's frown deepened, and she shook her head slowly, bewildered, her tone hushed and fearful. "What - what _are_ you?"

Crowley looked up from the page to meet her eyes with a cool, level gaze. "You know what I am."

Michael's eyes were troubled and confused. "Then… how…?"

"Seems you've got a bit to work out in your head, don't you?" Crowley observed. "How one might be Fallen, and yet still Her child. But if you think about it a while, you might be able figure it. Why don't you give it some thought, see what you come up with, and let me know?"

Michael looked away from his faint smile, with an effort focusing her attention on her fallen comrade. She crouched next to Gabriel's body for a few moments, waving a hand slowly and solemnly over him as she spoke a few quiet words in Enochian. His body faded away, transported to Heaven. As Michael rose to her feet, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the empty chains vanished, along with the few slight spatters of Gabriel's golden blood, until there was no trace of evidence that anything had been there at all.

Michael looked up at Crowley again with a sort of muted, horrified fascination, her lips parted as if to speak again - before she pursed them closed again and vanished herself, following Gabriel's body up to Heaven.

Crowley leaned back against the end of the nearest bookshelf, finally holding up the paper and reading it in earnest. Aziraphale stood waiting until he had finished and lowered it slowly, a far-off, stunned expression in his eyes, before cautiously reaching out a hand, taking a hesitant step toward him.

"May I?"

Crowley nodded and passed him the very official piece of celestial documentation.

It did indeed state in no uncertain terms that no angel was to attempt to harm either Aziraphale or Crowley, or in any way to seek "justice" or "vengeance" for Gabriel, for his fate as determined by Crowley had been the Almighty's justice for his many unspeakable sins.

Michael's precious project had been soundly and certainly condemned, with clear orders to abandon it entirely and destroy any technology that had been involved with it or created from it. And in a rather interesting detail that Michael had entirely neglected to mention to them, her personal archangel status was currently listed as "probationary" until further notice.

"Probation means she's got potential," Crowley mused when Aziraphale pointed that out. "The Almighty thinks she might come 'round in time. Not a lost cause, like... " His words trailed off, and he shook his head a little, swallowing slowly.

"But also not, at the moment… _beloved_, as you are." Aziraphale carefully set the paper aside, moving in close to Crowley, tilting his head up and meeting his eyes with clear adoration. "_My beloved child Crowley_. That's you, my love."

"Yeah," Crowley whispered, staring at Aziraphale with wide eyes, visibly overwhelmed and still a little disbelieving. "I s'pose it is, isn't it?"

It was so very, very much to take in - and, Aziraphale suspected, far easier for _him_ to believe than for Crowley.

Perhaps he was more than a little biased, but as far as he was concerned, Crowley was the most lovable being in the universe. He could scarcely imagine anyone knowing him for more than a few minutes without adoring him.

Why should their Heavenly Mother be any different?

Crowley agreed with Aziraphale's suggestion that they leave the shop hidden for a while, in order to allow them the peace and privacy in which to recover from the ordeal they'd just experienced - and for a few days, that was exactly what they had.

They spent some of the time in quiet, intense conversation, as Crowley tried his best to share with his angel the things their Creator had shown him - to somehow translate the sweeping concepts and feelings that She'd imparted to him mostly _without_ words. Aziraphale listened with rapt attention, taking in everything Crowley told him and taught him, eager and willing to learn and understand.

Other times, they spent… _not_ talking.

There was a pure, simple joy in being able to share their bed - or their sofa, or their bathtub, or on one memorable occasion, Aziraphale's miraculously cleared desk - without the fearful urgency born of ominous, overriding dread that at any moment, it could all be snatched away from them.

It wouldn't be.

They were finally safe. What they had was truly theirs. No one was going to come and try to take it away from them.

Three days after Michael's visit, they were drawn from a rather heated embrace on the sofa by the repeated ringing of the doorbell, interspersed with loud, obnoxious knocking. Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley, his expression startled and strangely hopeful.

"That sounds like…"

Crowley nodded. "Yeah." He grinned and jumped up from the sofa, taking the stairs two at a time and easily reaching the front door well before Aziraphale - opening it to find exactly who they'd expected standing there.

"Hastur!" Crowley gleefully greeted him. "Come in, come in!" He clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly as Hastur entered the shop. "You're alive!"

"Yes." Hastur eyed his hand suspiciously, looking up at Crowley with something like horror. "Why are you... _touching_ me, like we're _friends_? We aren't."

"No, no, of course not," Crowley agreed with an exaggerated expression of disgust. "Perish the thought. 'S just…" His tone softened without his consent as he explained, "We thought you were dead. The archangel said he saw you here, and we thought…" He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

Hastur blinked, visibly processing the implications of Crowley's words - and then his eyes widened with indignation. "He was watching this place? The whole time? Of course he was. Bit of warning might have been nice, though, me sticking my neck out for you lot and all."

"Quite right, terribly sorry," Aziraphale agreed with a regretful grimace. "We didn't know until… _after_ we thought you were dead."

"Right." Hastur's tone was flat and unimpressed. "That's not why I'm here, anyway. I'm here because you owe me something." He nodded toward Crowley, eyeing his bare throat with greedy eyes. "That pretty piece of jewelry you're missing."

Crowley shrugged, matter-of-fact and casual. "Yeah, you won't be getting that. Sorry." He was well aware that he didn't sound sorry at all - and he wasn't sorry about _that_, either.

Hastur glared between them for a moment before letting out a heavy, resentful sigh, rolling his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"The archangel Gabriel is dead," Aziraphale pointed out. "Consider that a win. Besides - the project's been abandoned on orders of the Almighty Herself."

"Considering Her personal interest in those collars _not_ being used," Crowley clarified, in case Hastur had missed the point, "you're most likely better off _not_ having it." Hastur seemed a bit taken aback at that, his resentful demeanor fading somewhat. "The collars have all been destroyed. They won't be used on _anyone_ again. Ever."

Hastur studied Crowley closely, his brow creasing in a thoughtful frown. "You're… different."

Crowley considered his words for a moment, thinking back to the last time Hastur had been to the bookshop - when he'd been a bloody wreck just barely managing to keep it together, trembling in Aziraphale's arms and desperately struggling to feign nonchalance while practically falling apart at the mention of Gabriel's name.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Yeah, s'pose I am."

Hastur swallowed slowly, his tone strangely soft and wondering when at last he spoke again. "It's true, isn't it? You - spoke with Her."

"Word gets around fast." Crowley blinked. "Yeah, I did."

"There's rumors going around about it in Hell, yeah," Hastur confirmed. "Saying She spoke with you, and - the two of you's off limits now. Not to be fucked with, for the time being - least until the higher ups can figure out exactly what happened, and what they'd be dealing with if they _did_ decide to..." His voice trailed off, and he was quiet a moment before repeating, "You spoke with Her." He stared at Crowley, disbelieving and a little awed. "And… _She_ spoke with _you_."

Crowley laughed. "Yeah. Shocking, I know."

There was no mockery or derision in Hastur's tone. In fact, he sounded wistful, and perhaps a little longing. "What was _that_ like?"

"Perhaps you'll get to find out for yourself sometime," Crowley suggested, with far greater gentleness than had ever graced his words when speaking with Hastur before. Hastur blinked, startled by the suggestion. "Things are changing," Crowley pointed out. "She told me Herself - we fallen angels are still Hers. She hasn't forgotten us, or written us off."

Hastur was silent for a moment, before recovering with a visible effort, letting out a scoffing sound that was a little too emphatic, a little forced. "Couldn't tell it from where I'm standing." He paused, and when he spoke again his tone was one of wary curiosity. "And, uh… anyway… _he_ might have something to say about that." He punctuated the statement with a pointed downward nod.

"Probably," Crowley conceded with a little nod. He wasn't even the slightest bit scared of Satan anymore. "Seems you might need to decide for _yourself _where you want to be."

Hastur frowned. "That's not already been decided for us?"

Crowley gave him a soft smile. "No. It really hasn't."

Hastur stared at him for a moment, hope warring with suspicion on his face before he turned to leave. He stopped with his hand on the door, looking back toward Crowley with confusion. "So… hypothetical like… if I _did_ want to… talk to Her…"

"Can't speak for Her," Crowley shrugged. "No guarantees. But… you might start by _trying_."

Hastur stood there for a moment, looking troubled and thoughtful, before finally leaving the bookshop.

As soon as he'd left, Crowley snapped his fingers.

Aziraphale closed the distance between them, putting an arm around his waist. "What did you just do?" he asked.

"Took the sanctuary barrier down."

The mild curiosity on Aziraphale's face became alarm, but Crowley met it with a calm, confident smile.

"It's all right," he assured his angel. "It's time."

Michael was the first of many angels to visit the bookshop, and Hastur the first of many demons.

They came in a slow, steady trickle, one every couple of weeks, over the coming months. They came wary and cautious, glancing furtively over their shoulders as they entered, and staring at Crowley and Aziraphale with wide, fearful eyes, as if they weren't sure whether they should be more frightened by the strangely legendary angel and demon they were facing, or their respective comrades outside the shop who might have seen them go in.

Crowley usually did most of the talking.

After all, it was his experience they were most interested in.

Aziraphale usually sat close to him and listened, watching him with open, loving admiration - and the attention of their visitors was often torn between Crowley's words, and the visible, blatant affection between the two of them. Occasionally Crowley might reach out to lace his finger's with Aziraphale's as he mentioned a particularly emotional moment of his experience… or Aziraphale might slide his arm around Crowley's waist as he sat down beside him. The casual brush of a hand through Crowley's hair, or perhaps even a quick kiss to his temple, as Aziraphale got up to get the tea, or attend to some other business, was enough to startle most of the wide-eyed, anxious angels and demons that visited them.

Aziraphale didn't _exactly_ play it up for their audience - but he made no attempt to hold back his affection, either.

He realized by now - it was as much a part of the lesson as Crowley's words.

His heart ached at the longing that always seemed to be there in the eyes of their angelic visitors - whether Fallen or not. They would listen intently, some masking their desperate thirst better than others, as Crowley talked about the warmth of Her acceptance as She'd taken him into Her arms… the sweet relief and reassurance as She'd whispered to him that he was still Hers, and how much She still loved him after all these centuries.

Crowley's renewed relationship with Her was usually the focus of their questions - but nearly as often, they would ask about his relationship with Aziraphale. When they did, the husbands would show them the marks of their union - the Almighty's seal of approval.

"I don't understand."

The archangel Uriel sat stiff and reserved, hands folded carefully in her lap as she sat opposite the two of them on their sofa. Her words were halting and uncertain, barely concealing her confusion. The tumultuous emotions that had driven her to them were clear on her face, even as she avoided making eye contact with them and chose instead to focus on the small potted plant in the center of the coffee table - positively thriving by this point, with brilliant, shining green leaves, flush with vibrant purple flowers.

"You're on… opposing sides. How can She want this? For the two of you to be… brought together, and obviously so… so happy… only to be torn apart when the war comes?"

Aziraphale carefully weighed his response. "Perhaps… you're asking the wrong question…"

Crowley was a bit more direct. "She doesn't want two sides," he informed her. "I don't think She ever did."

Uriel frowned. "And… the war?"

Crowley shrugged, giving her a sardonic smile. "Got to have at least two sides to have one of those."

They walked her to the door, and as it closed, Aziraphale slid his arms around Crowley from behind him, kissing his neck softly. Crowley turned in his arms, leaning back against the door and pulling his angel in close to him to kiss his lips instead.

"If you keep going at this rate, darling," Aziraphale said softly against his jaw before drawing back to give him a warm smile, "there isn't going to _be_ any Apocalypse."

"Lord willing." Crowley smirked. "And She is."

The Almighty had never wanted the war at all, Crowley had confided in Aziraphale shortly after his conversation with Her. The Fall itself was never supposed to be a permanent thing - never supposed to create such a vicious dividing line between the angels who had experienced it and those who had not. It had been intended as a punishment, yes - but never meant to be a permanent separation from Her.

But of course, angels being the creatures of extremes that they tended to be, had to take it and run with it... in their respective opposite directions. Once Fallen, most were determined to be the worst and most vile demons they could possibly be, to do everything in their power to bring about the destruction of their estranged celestial brethren. Heaven's angels, in turn, utterly rejected the Fallen and decided that they had to be destroyed at all costs.

Like a hateful cancer, the distrust and competition grew and spread, until the divide between the two sides was so vast and deep and dark that there seemed to be no crossing it.

Until a single angel and a single demon _did _cross it.

And the Almighty placed Her stamp of approval on their union - because it was a sign for all of Heaven and Hell to see: She _wanted_ them to come together, as Aziraphale and Crowley had done - not to be eternally torn asunder.

The inevitability of war was an assumption of the higher angels on both sides. And once it took shape and began to gain momentum, there was little chance of stopping it as they chased after it, each side certain that in the end, they would be victorious - neither realizing that if it actually came down to _the end _\- _everyone _would have lost.

"She didn't want it," Crowley confessed, hushed in the darkness, in a quiet moment between them. "What happened to me. She - knew it would happen, of course. She can see it all, this whole - intricate, twisted-up mess of all our choices, and their choices, and _his_ choices, and just - just all of it. And that's really why She keeps her distance, you know. It's the price of choice. She can't intervene just any time, or She'd be intervening _all _the time, and then - goodbye, free will. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt Her to watch it. To - see what was happening and _not_ step in was just… too painful, so - _distance_."

Aziraphale hadn't quite let go of the anger he felt toward Her for allowing Crowley's suffering - but he thought of the millennia he'd spent holding Crowley at arm's length, and supposed he didn't have a lot of room to judge.

"She didn't want it," Aziraphale echoed. "But - perhaps She can use it. Perhaps some good can come of it, after all. If they all can learn, as I did. Angels can be evil. Demons can be good. At heart, we've all got the choice to make for ourselves, and we're all just so very…" His words trailed off, and he shook his head a little, at a loss.

"Human," Crowley supplied, smiling into Aziraphale's hair, brushing a kiss against the top of his head.

There was something electrically expectant in the air these days - a feeling like a brisk, autumn wind, signifying that change was not a far off thing at the edge of the horizon, but _here_ and _now_ and _happening_.

"What _is_ Her plan?" Aziraphale had asked him, early on, eager and curious.

And Crowley had summed it up in a single word, his eyes lit with love and wonder.

"_Reconciliation_."

And Crowley was making it happen.

His humble and yet shameless honesty. His love and forgiveness in the face of all that Heaven had allowed to happen to him, all that he'd suffered. His passion when it came to sharing what he'd learned and working to bring Heaven and Hell back together again, to reunite his family once and for all.

The predestined Apocalypse never occurred - quietly thwarted, not by dramatic efforts on anyone's part, but by quiet, earnest words in the warm, inviting apartment over a dusty SoHo bookshop. By the time it was _supposed_ to have happened, it seemed that neither Heaven nor Hell seemed particularly inclined to fight anymore.

But in the years that followed, Aziraphale and Crowley realized that averting the Great War was only a small piece of their role in Her plan.

A few centuries beyond that, when the Almighty released Her _second_ "best seller of all time", they were astonished to find that it heavily featured stories of the Fallen angel who chose love - who chose to rise above what he'd been told was his nature and instead become the key to the reconciliation of Heaven and Hell.

Aziraphale tried to read the stories aloud to Crowley, but found that he couldn't quite get through most of them without getting choked up - reading about the depths of suffering that had led to healing and restoration… unfathomably selfless love that had led to forgiveness and reunion… a kind and open heart that had led hearts filled with prejudice and suspicion back into warm and loving relationship, with each other and with their Creator.

He looked up from the book that was stained with his tears, to see Crowley's eyes shining with disbelieving wonder - his humility scarcely allowing him to believe that the angel honored in its pages was himself.

But for Aziraphale, there could be no doubt - every word was true.

The free will Crowley had once shared with the world had been stolen away from him, trampled into dust beneath him - but he'd fought for it and bled for it and finally won it back. He'd chosen love and mercy and selfless courage, when it'd seemed that he had no choices left to him at all - and in the end, the power of choice had been restored to him once more.

He'd chosen Aziraphale.

He'd chosen _love_.

And his choice had saved the world.


End file.
